


Stained

by BlackWerewolf888



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adult Content, Anti-Hero, Canon Compliant, Dark Fantasy, Dark Imagery, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Gen, Psychological Drama, Romance, Sexual Tension Between Siblings, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 82,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9348812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackWerewolf888/pseuds/BlackWerewolf888
Summary: On the year 1050 of the Third Age, the Necromancer appears in south Greenwood. Maeloth and her brother Belegorn manage to escape from an attack, but lose everything in the process - everything, apart from one another. As Greenwood slowly twists into Mirkwood, Belegorn oscillates between love and possessiveness, and Maeloth's obsession is power and revenge. Soon, Maeloth's pride will push her to put a dangerous plan in motion - and it will not be long before she loses herself in the dark path that she carved for herself.A dark account of the years that Sauron posed as the Necromancer, through the eyes of an Elf that witnessed both his ascend and his defeat.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to _Stained_ , a dark fantasy psychological drama, with elements of action/adventure and romance.
> 
>  _Stained_ is divided in two parts:
> 
> \- The first one, _Mirkwood_ , is where our story begins. In this part prevail elements of drama and romance. There will be some action, some dark imagery and depictions of violence, but the main focus will be on our characters' psyche and the relationships between them. This part is necessary for the set-up of the second one,
> 
> \- _Dol Guldur_. This is where the story turns into a dark fantasy tale. There will be graphic depictions of violence, dark imagery and a general grim vibe.
> 
> Throughout the story, I will touch upon tricky and unsettling subjects that might not be everyone's cup of tea. There won't be further warning tags to avoid spoilers, but you will be able to see what's coming as the story progresses, so there shouldn't be any sudden surprises. 
> 
> I'd love to read your comments and your reviews, so let me know what you think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> .
> 
> _part I_
> 
> _Mirkwood_
> 
> .
> 
> .

 

Long ago, she was a different woman with a different name.

Back then, in the hazy depths of her past, she had a family. That was so long ago that she can barely remember their faces now. No more than blurry fragments of a life that may or may not have existed.

She was somebody else back then. She was Nibelloth. That name brings a chuckle to her lips now - a pitiful thing. The jagged piece of a mirror that reflects her lost self. But the fact is that back then she was Nibelloth and she had a family.

They lived at the outskirts on Greenwood the Great, Nibelloth with her parents, two brothers and a sister. All she can remember are sunny days; the shade under the canopy of green leaves; a few rays of sunlight breaking through to dance on the sweet-smelling grass.

That was peace for her. To the end of her days, that was the equivalent of peace for Nibelloth: the smell of the southern woods, golden cracks in the green half-light, somebody - probably her sister - singing. Back before Greenwood the Great became Mirkwood. It's funny, but she can't remember anything else. The rest of that life is like a dream: the images fade when she tries to recall them.

The days before the Orcs are but a sunny blur, but she can remember everything after with painstaking accuracy. And she remembers the day the sun went out.

The Orcs came and poisoned the ground, filled the air with hate and darkened the clouds. The Orcs came and killed them all.

They attacked on a moonless night, quick and stealthy like shadows. The elves of southern Greenwood, lulled in their peace, did not expect an attack. None of them was prepared. For most of them, the ground that was their home became their resting place. They fell from swords, poisoned arrows and fire. The whole world went up in flames that night. The smoke carried screams to the sky, howls of pain and horror and the awful victorious shrieks of the Orcs.

Some elves tried to fight back. Nibelloth tried, too, with a bow and arrows and an untrained hand, but she lost her weapons. They clattered on the ground from her numb fingers as she watched her mother's head being bashed in by an axe. She stood frozen and stared as they defiled her body. She stood there, with ashes in her eyes and screams in her ears, and she could do nothing. Flesh was sliced, bodies charred and burned, and she couldn't move. She couldn't breathe for the air was thick with the smell of death.

She would have fallen there, on that night, among the bodies of her loved ones and the grass that had known her for all her life. She would have fallen with nothing but sunny memories in her mind. The trees that sung her to sleep each night would whisper her last lullaby. They were singing now for her mother and father, her sister and one of her brothers, but their wail turned into a sigh when a pair of hands carried Nibelloth away from the fire and the death and the blood. She never understood if it was a sigh of relief or pity, but it chased her as she run, blindly following the hand that led her through the woods.

The hand grasped hers tightly, steady and secure and pulling her decisively forward. The screams and the shrieks and the sighs died slowly away, the angry glow of the fire hid behind black trunks, but they still ran. Nibelloth was aware of her feet being slashed by thorns and of her lungs burning, but her mind was away from her body. It was back, under the singing trees, in front of her mother's crushed skull, before her sister's torn body and her father's blackened skin.

It was only when a sob escaped from her companion that she realized it was one of her older brothers, Belegorn, still alive, still with her, running with hands slick by blood and refusing to let go.

"Hold on, sister", he was heaving through his tears. "Hold on".

With a heart-wrenching effort, she tore her mind away from the shattered skulls and the funeral lullabies. She gripped his hand tighter and she held on as they ran together, away from death and danger and peaceful, sunny days.


	2. Dead Weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's notes:** Dark Souls reference? Yup, I couldn't resist. :P

Greenwood, even back then, was a maze of twisting roots and black trunks, all hidden in the shade of the thick foliage. Nibelloth remembers how she and Belegorn stumbled helplessly through it, ever holding hands and headed north.

At first they run together like mad deer but, after the adrenaline rush subsided, they started swaying with exhaustion and had to half-carry each other: Nibelloth silent and frozen in shock, Belegorn crying ceaselessly and heaving with breathless sobs. It took many hours, perhaps a whole day, for her to utter a word, and it was only when Belegorn's legs gave in and he sunk to the ground, where he curled and whined weakly.

"They are gone", he breathed, as he had done many times over the past hours. "All of them. Gone. All...". His voice died on his lips as fresh tears streaked down his cheeks.

Nibelloth knelt beside him, her face a frown but her eyes dry. She wrapped her hands softly around his heaving form.

"Come now, dear brother", she whispered hoarsely as she caressed his hair. He had deep brown locks, just like her, and in the half-light of the forest they looked almost black.

She kept weaving her fingers through his hair and coughed to clear her throat. "Come on", she said again, a bit more decisively, but she hated the way her voice sounded. "Come on, we're almost there".

She could hear the lie in her voice, but she hoped that Belegorn wouldn't notice. She had no idea how far they were from the Elvenking's Halls. She had traveled there only once, many years ago, but the journey was easier and it had seemed shorter. Pleasant times always seem brief and come to pass so quickly; where there is pain and suffering involved, minutes seem to stretch into aeons.

The sound of her voice, however hoarse and distorted, seemed to calm him. His breathing gradually grew more even, but silent tears kept spilling from his eyes as he melted in her embrace. She held him close, closer than she had ever done before. Belegorn wasn't the type of man that had needed consoling through his life. He was always the strong and fiery one, brave and smart and proud. He was easy to anger but also, even though he didn't look like it, easy to sadden. However, his pride seemed crushed now, and it hurt Nibelloth to see him like this, diminished and distraught and curled like a child on the forest floor.

She kept murmuring soft words of comfort to his ear, trying not to remember what had had brought him to this state. Trying not to think. She was desperate to move, to go on. Moving had given her a purpose and a distraction. It was easier to focus on her destination when her feet weren't idle; stillness terrified her. She felt that she was running from something and, if she didn't move, it would eventually catch up with her. It would make her think and she couldn't do that; she couldn't let herself remember the Orcs shrieking as they set the night on fire, couldn't remember the crushed skull with the brown hair, thick blood seeping in to the ground, limbs twitching next to warm innards, red grass, red sky, pale flesh...

"Sister...?"

She realized that she had shut her eyes tightly only when she opened them to meet Belegorn's nervous gaze. It seemed that she hadn't been talking for a while now; she wondered if her voice cracked before fading out completely. Judging by the concerned tone in Belegorn's voice, it must have. She swallowed and cursed herself on the inside. She had stayed still for too long and, whatever it was that she was running away from, had caught up.

"Come, brother", she said hastily and was thankful to hear her voice steady. "Rise, if you would. We have to go on. We are not far".

She pulled him gently on trembling and unwilling feet and half-carried him despite his protests.

Moving was necessary for Nibelloth, but Belegorn was growing weaker and weaker with each step. Grief was doing its work on him, consuming him mercilessly. Many a time he tried to persuade her to leave him be, but she wouldn't allow him to give up. She tried to talk some courage into him, for she knew he was strong - it was he, after all, who had saved her last night despite all the horror - but it was like talking to a different man. After a while her words started sounding hollow and she stopped talking altogether, but she didn't stop urging him forward with every other means.

It was up to her to keep them both on their feet. Mostly for the sake of Belegorn than her own, she grit her teeth and steeled her will and faked that she was stronger than she actually was. She took pride in herself for managing to keep her eyes dry at all times. After a while it became evident that her strength gave Belegorn more courage than any words ever could. A teardrop could shatter his fragile composure, but Nibelloth had no intent of letting this happen. In this battle, thoughts were just dead weight, so she shut them out through sheer determination.

It was not long, though, before physical weakness bent her own knees, too. Belegorn could see her struggling, but there was little he could do.

Both physical and emotional exhaustion set in and it took all they got not to lie on the forest floor and rest forever on the dead leaves. It all became worse every time that Belegorn, half-unconscious, whispered through dry lips things like: "They 're all gone". Such phrases stirred the memories in his sister's head and made it much harder to maintain her cold exterior. Once or twice her lips quivered, but she didn't know if it was because of Belegorn's words, of her own exhaustion or of the hopelessness that every now and then crept under her skull, uninvited and terrifying; the latter mostly happened whenever they spotted a thinning of the dense vegetation and she believed it to be and indication that they were close to the Forest Road.

They did finally cross the Forest Road, at some point, but this only added to Nibelloth's despair, for she knew that this meant that they were only halfway there.

"Sis...", Belegorn rasped at some point, "...you are not well". It was not a question, it was a statement.

He had made it sound as if an answer, any answer, was obsolete, but she replied nevertheless. "Do not worry about me".

He drew in a few labored breaths and then he said quietly. "I am dying, sister".

"No, you are not", was her answer, and an abrupt one.

"I am. I know it. You have been so kind, dear Nibelloth... So brave. B-but-"

"Please don't speak, Belegorn. Save your breath". She didn't mean to sound so harsh, but despair had started creeping again under her skin and harshness was the only foolproof way to keep her voice from trembling.

A glance on his face was enough to reveal the truth of his words. He was fading. He had started slipping away as soon as they ran away, but she was determined not to let him go. Perhaps oblivion would be much preferred, in his state, but with a pang of remorseless selfishness she thought that she couldn't lose him, too. Perhaps it was a very similar sentiment that led to her rescue on the night of the attack, too - the one that robbed her of the peaceful lullabies on familiar grounds. He had saved her, and now she was saving him. Whether it was from selfishness or love, they would bear with each other. They had managed to survive together and they would stick together.

So, no, leaving Belegorn to wither was not an option. She would have to drive herself to death first before letting him give up.

"Listen to me, Nibelloth", he tried to insist.

She spun around and grabbed him by the shoulders to look him straight in the eye. It was night-time, so there was little light under the thick foliage, but it was enough for her Elf-eyes to discern the glimmer of unshed tears over Belegorn's irises. Tears that he was probably too weak to spill.

She all but shook him a she hissed: "Do not speak those words again, do you hear me? We-will-make it, Belegorn! Trust in me. Just... Trust in me and hold on". She didn't manage to keep the harshness in her voice for as long as she had wanted and it ended up a soft plea.

A sigh left his lips; she was so close that she felt his warm breath on her face. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment against her will, trying not to think that this might be one of his last precious breaths, one of their last moments together. He was weak. He was dying. And yet, when she opened her eyes, she wound her left arm around his torso with renewed determination and she touched her lips on his forehead before whispering: "Come on. We are close". Then, gripping him tightly, she practically dragged him with her.

After this, each step was a struggle. Belegorn's legs sometimes cooperated, but most of the times he couldn't control them and they dragged like lifeless logs, scraping heavily on the ground and the dead leaves. Objectively, he was not heavy, but Nibelloth wasn't known for her physical strength. Her thin arms trembled with the effort and still they could barely support him. Her own legs yielded more than once and they found themselves sprawled on the dirt, taking them longer each time to find the strength to get up.

There was no time flow. And no end. Such concepts lost their meaning. The only comfort was that there was no beginning, either. It was impossible to think of the events that sent them wandering in this endless maze. There was room for little else apart from constant scanning of the environment for a trace of water or another living creature.

When she first heard the sound of hooves, she thought she was hallucinating from hunger and thirst. She kept trying to force another step out of Belegorn, paying no heed to what she thought were taunting shadows of her mind.

But the sound kept approaching.

She considered shouting, just in case somebody was actually there to hear it, but her voice stuck in her dry throat. Despair turned into panic at the thought that they were this close to help but unable to reach it. Too weak to call out. She stepped on a fallen twig, trying to make any sound. She didn't care if she would attract the attention of friends or foes; either would be better than starving and fading in the middle of nowhere. They would receive help or a quick death; either one was preferable over this.

She shook Belegorn to alert him, but he didn't seem to notice. By now he could easily pass for dead, but Nibelloth could still feel the flicker of life inside him, however faint. The sound was approaching fast, so she shook him harder. And then she saw them: the glint of eyes among the trees. Elf eyes. Coming towards them.

A thankful cry was all that escaped from Nibelloth's lips before she collapsed, Belegorn's weight crushing her where she fell. Somehow, they had spotted them. Somehow, they had found them.

Relief was a much sweeter feeling than she could have ever imagined. It overwhelmed her and, had she managed, she would have whispered: "Belegorn, we made it", before fainting.


	3. The haunted word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's notes 1:** This chapter marks the end of the introduction. As of the next chapter, the main plot kicks off.  
>  **Author's notes 1.5:** Reviews are love.

Little flower.

That's what her name meant. This is what her mother called her. That's what everybody called her up until then. Little flower. Nibelloth. Two words united in one, carrying the weight of her whole existence.

One thing she was sure of: she didn't want to hear that name ever again.

So, from the moment she came to, she had no name. As she rode behind an elf named Morfindir, she was simply the Nameless One.

She had awoken in his hands, practically. She regained consciousness to find herself still in the forest, propped up in a sitting position with her back against a tree, and the face of a black-haired elf inches from hers. The man had a beautiful, serene smile and soft hands that held a flask to her lips, dripping carefully some refreshing potion into her mouth.

"Welcome back", he smiled that calm smile of his when she blinked at him. She didn't respond to that; she merely looked around, alarmed. Her vision was still blurry, but she could make out several other elves moving between the trees. At some point to her left almost half a dozen elves were huddled around something that lay on the ground.

 _Belegorn_ , she thought with a fierceness that made her heart pound madly.

"Easy, my lady", the black-haired elf told her, pushing her gently back. She had made to move towards her brother without realizing it, but the elf's soft hands held her still. "He will be alright, don't worry. My companions are taking care of him. But you need to take it easy, too. You have strained yourself a lot. Here, drink this". He offered her the flask she had already half emptied while unconscious. "I am Morfindir", he told her as she drank.

She didn't answer to that, either. She was still looking at Belegorn's hidden body.

"He is lucky", Morfindir said, following her gaze. "We found you in time". His voice dropped, his smile faded. "We heard what happened at the southern border. We were sent to look for... To help the survivors".

That managed to catch her attention. She averted her gaze from the group of gathered elves and looked into Morfindir's eyes; the elf had velvety black eyes to match his hair. She didn't manage to utter the question that rose to her lips, but Morfindir must have read it in her eyes, for he said: "You were the first we met, and we haven't moved on since. But I do not know what luck the other groups had".

The drink he had offered her helped her regain some of her strength and soon she managed to crawl to Belegorn's side. He hadn't awoken yet and he was pale, but at least his skin was getting warmer with each passing second, thanks to the tending of the elves.

She told them his name, but she refused to say hers. She refused to do a lot of things: she refused to say what had happened to them, to leave Belegorn's side, or to let him ride with another elf, even though she was too weak to ride herself. But mostly, she refused to even acknowledge that she had a name. She finally let Belegorn ride with somebody else: a strong warrior, unusually muscular for an elf. She agreed to ride with Morfindir, on condition that their horse was next to her brother's at all times. She didn't want to take her eyes off him.

And so they rode north, the Nameless One behind Morfindir, arms around his waist, the horse that carried her brother right next to her. Her eyes were fixed on his face as his head swayed lifelessly from side to side. The remaining eight horses of the group followed behind them, galloping steadily though myriads of tree trunks.

The journey was agony, much worse than the last one. It was hard not occupying her mind and body with something, not having to be in control of something. It left her vulnerable to memories. They flooded her mind violently, mercilessly, painfully. Images pierced her mind, vivid and accurate, and she witnessed again the slaying of everyone she knew.

Well, almost everyone. Each time that such an image invaded her mind, she tried to fight it with the only available means to her: she tried to focus on Belegorn; focus on his limp, pale, but still alive form. It wasn't over yet. He still needed her. He was still vulnerable, he would be for as long as they were out in the forest. It wouldn't be over until he was safe behind the walls of the Woodland Realm capital, and she would go on for as long as it took. She couldn't lose it now. Couldn't give in.

So focus on Belegorn. Keep an eye on him, make sure he's safe. Alive.

She was already looking at him so hard that she could see the vein in his neck pulse faintly.

Doesn't matter, focus harder. Fight the images. Look at him. Fight them. Look. Fight. Again and again.

Focus, fight. For miles and miles.

This part of the journey was far more excruciating than the last - odd, but true. And, somehow, it was much more quiet. The air heavier. The silence deafening, the sound from the horse's hooves not enough to break it. Not a bird could be heard, not a breath, neither from animal nor tree. Something was wrong, something that had nothing to do with her or the struggle in her head. Something that made that feeling of dread inside her intensify.

* * *

The Elvenking's Halls.

She had been there once, decades ago. Back then it had seemed grand, magnificent with its numerous carved pillars, the masterful murals, the everlasting trees integrated in its architecture. This time she didn't pay attention to any of that. She was barely aware of her voice echoing up and down the vast corridors as she argued once more with Morfindir and the guards.

She was to meet King Thranduil immediately while Belegorn was to be transferred to the healing wards. King's orders.

She didn't want to leave her brother's side no matter what. They told her fatigue and terror were clouding her judgement. They were both safe now, behind walls. The healers would take care of Belegorn; they would take care of her, too. But first, off to the throne room. The matter was of utmost importance.

So she watched as four elves carried her brother's limp body on a stretcher and, with each step they took down that corridor, away from her, they ripped her heart apart. King's orders. Shouldn't a King know what was best for his subjects? Shouldn't he know that forcing them apart when her brother was this vulnerable was killing her?

"It's just for a few minutes, Nameless One", Morfindir said, seeing the bitterness in her expression. "Come. The sooner we get you to the King, the sooner you'll get to go back to your brother. And don't worry. He is safe now".

Safe. She thought they would be safe once inside these walls, too. But couldn't they feel it? How the air felt thick even in here, how everything sounded hollow before dying away with an unnatural abruptness? Even the light coming from the high windows felt dull. The shadows were growing heavier, oppressing, not leaving much room for an Elf to breathe.

Whatever she had sensed out in the forest was in here, too. Morfindir felt it, she could see it on his face. His black eyes betrayed the discomfort and the worry behind his composed soldier mask.

Even though neither of them could give a name to this feeling, they both acknowledged it silently, meeting each other's gaze.

"To the King", Morfindir said with an urgent edge to his voice, as if meeting Thranduil would be the answer to everything.

He and a couple of guards accompanied her to the throne room, where a meeting was taking place. Morfindir disappeared past the heavy oak doors for a while before poking his head out again.

"Come on, Nameless One. The King is ready to see you".

The door opened for her and she entered the great room. Tens of floor-length windows let the sunlight in - this weird, contaminated light - while chandeliers and candlesticks helped illuminate any corner that didn't get enough light. Fresh and dried flowers sent their fragrance across the room, but even those were not enough to make the air more pleasant. A dozen elves were there, now huddled around corners and drinking honeyed wine, taking a break from an apparently tiresome meeting. Their gazes were dark and worried as Morfindir's had been, and the sweet wine seemed to do nothing to lift their spirits.

The King himself looked deeply troubled. He was sitting on his jeweled throne, eerily beautiful, an image of magnificence and grace, uncommonly fair for the standards the Forest Folk. His golden hair was gleaming in the dazzling candlelight as it cascaded down his shoulders - hunched shoulders, shoulders that carried an almost tangible load.

He lifted his head when she approached him. She made to bow, but she ended up kneeling rather ungracefully.

"You arrive at a dark and uncertain time", Thranduil said in his clear voice as he rose from his seat. "Many things are troubling our hearts, so much that we oversaw that you deserved a proper welcome". He approached her crouched form slowly and she dared lift her head to face him; his ice-blue eyes met hers. "Welcome once more to the Elven Kingdom of Greenwood, Nibelloth of the Southern Border".

At the sound of her name she winced involuntarily. She meant to thank him for his words, but no sound came out. So they stood there in silence for a while, as Thranduil considered her, and the only voice that was heard was that of Morfindir whispering: "So she does have a name!"

Her first impulse was to shout "I don't", but she managed to keep silent by biting her lip. Thranduil, however, seemed to have understood something, for he said: "Ah, I see" - softly, like talking to himself.

"I understand you had a long and tiring journey", he added a bit louder. "You are in need of food and rest, but I'm afraid I have to ask for a bit more patience. There are pressing matters we need to discuss". He turned to an elf to his right. "Bring her something restorative to drink. She needs it". Somebody brought her a cup of a golden liquid as Thranduil sat again on his throne. "Please, drink. You will need your strength. What we have to discuss is not pleasant".

She complied. This drink was stronger than the potion Morfindir had given her: warmth spread in her limbs and a bit of the weight on her lungs lifted, allowing her to breathe more freely.

"Thank you, my Lord", she said finally, voice weak but clear.

Thranduil nodded in acknowledgement and weaved his fingers. He sighed, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

"I have heard of the attack on the Southern parts of the Forest. Your settlement was not the only one that was attacked and, sadly, destroyed. I regret to admit that we were not prepared for an attack of such force. Hundreds of Orcs gathered undetected..." He shook his head. "This hasn't happened for centuries". He sighed again. He seemed to have a hard time choosing his next words. "I also regret to announce that there were no other survivors". At that there was a small stab of horror in her gut, ultimately lost among all the other overwhelming feelings. "Of all the groups that were sent for help, Morfindir's was the only one that managed to find someone. The Southern part of Greenwood is swarming with Orcs as we speak". She knew what that meant: no going back. She didn't care. She wouldn't go back, even if there was a place to go back to. "I've sent my son with a scouting team, so we will soon know their next moves, but we have no knowledge on the actual attack".

She swallowed, her throat feeling suddenly dry. She knew what his next question would be.

"We would like you to help us. It is of utmost importance to know exactly what happened that night, so that we can draw our defenses accordingly".

Her breath caught, even though she anticipated it. _What happened that night._  He was asking her to dive into the memories she had been trying so hard to avoid. Well, she wasn't doing such a great job at that, anyway. And of course it was of utmost importance. King's orders, remember? So what happened that night?

What had happened was that in one moment everything was peaceful and, in the next, everybody was screaming. Sudden like a glass that breaks, the serenity of the night was shattered. Where had the Orcs come from? She didn't know. She didn't see. What she did see were pieces of skull bones scattered on the grass. She saw burnt skeletons, the flesh melting off the blackening bones. She had lived many years, but she had never seen anything like that up until then. Want to know what it looked like? Want to know how it smelled? No, she didn't see where the Orcs came from, nobody did, that was the whole point. If they had - well, she wouldn't be here now, would she? She would still be back home.

Home. Belegorn was her home now, and they wouldn't even let her be close to him. So ask away, ask away, let's get this over with. Not helpful? No useful answers to anything? Well, that's hardly surprising, she wasn't helpful that night, either. She did nothing. Belegorn saved her. Belegorn saved her when she should have died. She should have died.

Was she speaking? Was she saying these things out loud? That couldn't be her voice, no, she'd recognize her own voice. That voice belonged to a broken thing, hollow, lost; not to her, right? Not to her.

A hand touched lightly the top of her head. "Nibelloth..." Was it compassion or pity that laced the King's voice?

"Do not call me this", she hissed, overly aggressive, clenched fists trembling with fury. Only then did she notice the tears that streamed down her face. They left a lingering taste of salt on her lips.

The King didn't withdraw his hand. He was caressing her hair softly, as if her fury didn't matter to him in the slightest. She lifted her head to look at him, his pity making her way too angry to be ashamed of her tears. They were alone in the throne room now. The King had probably sent the rest outside while she ranted. Had she spoken, after all? Her throat felt sore.

"I am deeply sorry for what happened to your family", the King said softly. "They were my people. It is a heavy burden knowing that... You couldn't protect them. That what you did wasn't enough. I think that counts as true for both of us". She said nothing. Her anger was giving fire to a rude retort, but she restrained herself somehow. "We lost many. Too many. But now we must make sure that such a tragedy will not be repeated. As hard as it is... We cannot afford to be consumed by grief". His gaze pierced her with the force of an arrow. "Do you understand me?"

"I cannot help you. I have no useful information on the attack", she said, and that same broken sound came out of her lips.

"Do you understand me?", he repeated, his gaze steadily on her. Something flickered across his ice-blue irises. Pity? No; compassion. He was sharing her grief. He could understand her pain, for he himself had felt it before. Perhaps he was feeling it at that exact moment. The iron King's facade was threatening to shatter. But his words were somehow still echoing across the room: we cannot afford to be consumed by grief.

Perhaps the echo was just in her head, but the message was clear. Clear like a spark in the dark, an image formed in her mind: Belegorn. It wasn't over yet. He needed her. She had to remain strong. No rest, then? No. Constant fighting.

"I understand", she murmured finally. "But... I do not have such strength". Fresh tears stung her eyes. Just as she thought she had reached the end of the path, she realized that there is no end. It would go on, endlessly, and it was a rough and steep path, and she was so tired already.

"You will find the strength", Thranduil told her soothingly. He could be talking to himself again. Yet, he was looking at her, hand still stroking her dirty curls. "Your strength brought you this far. You have it in you, and it won't abandon you as long as you have something worth fighting for. And I believe you do. Don't you?"

His fingers moved to her jaw, lightly lifting her head, the easier to lock eyes with her. She blinked to prevent more tears from spilling and she nodded, Belegorn's image still alight in her head.

"Then you will find the strength. I know it. I see it. It might seem like a fool's belief right now, I'm sure..." - that made her chuckle; after all, it did sound overly optimistic - "but I know what I'm talking about. I've seen it happen before".

For some reason she had no doubt that he was talking about himself. The same shadow was stirring in the depths of his eyes, the one that caused this unexpected compassion. It confused her: she didn't expect this kind of approach from the King. She had met him once before and, back then, he was nothing like this.

A small, melancholic smile curved Thranduil's lips, as if he knew what she was thinking. "It is at times like this that you find out the most about yourself and others. Dark times challenge us and test our spirit, but they also help us understand who we really are. Pain either destroys you, or becomes the kindling for greatness. The choice is yours to make".

He stood up and headed back to his throne. He sat slowly, like a tired man, and for the first time she wondered how many years he was actually carrying, how many millennia had carved his soul.

She wiped her cheeks and took a few deep, tremulous inhales. When she made sure her eyes were dry and her breathing steady, she stood up. She bowed as deeply as her sore back allowed her. "Thank you, my Lord, for your kindness. I am sorry I couldn't be of more help", she said with sincerity in a voice that still sounded a bit hoarse.

"Oh, but you were of more help than you think. You gave us some useful information with your... narration". She looked at him incredulously. "There were some useful details in your words, even if you payed no heed to them. My counselors are currently discussing the matter in another room. I have to join them shortly-"

"You shouldn't have wasted all this time on me", she cut across him without thinking, as guilt built up inside her again.

He didn't seem to mind. "It is a King's duty to know what is best for his subjects. I believe you agree with that". He smiled with the look on her face. "After all, I told you, you were of more help that you think. And I believe you will keep on being extremely useful".

She couldn't tell where his confidence was coming from, but she was thankful nonetheless. She bowed again, before the King's crystal voice rang in a more pleasant tone:

"Ah... I believe someone has woken up and is asking for you".

* * *

Three days later, Belegorn had finally managed to open his eyes and stay awake. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness up until then, saying a few words and then passing out again. But now he was lying on the bed in the healing ward, wide awake and strong enough to ask one question after the other.

His sister was standing at the window that faced west, next to Belegorn's bed, her gaze lost along the cloudy sky. The clouds and the storms always seemed to rise from the south, along with that unsettling feeling that made the whole Forest fall silent. Natural sunlight was growing weaker in a most peculiar way; and everything was getting worse day by day.

The South seemed to be the source of all these problems. Whatever had settled there was spreading.

"I heard the King is worried", Belegorn said.

"Everybody is worried", his sister answered.

"They also said that they found no other survivors". She didn't respond to that. She needn't let him know that, while he was sleeping, she kept dogging the scouts that returned, desperate for news. "Do you think there are more? That perhaps they haven't found them yet?"

"I don't think so".

"Why? They could be wandering, lost as we were-"

"There's no one else", she cut across him.

"You don't have to be so harsh about it", Belegorn murmured.

"It's a fact. We might as well accept things as they are", she said, giving him a stern look.

Her brother sighed. "Nibelloth...", he started, but she interrupted him again.

"I told you not to call me that!"

"Why?"

She turned her back to the window to fully face him. "Because I'm not _her_ anymore". She tried to keep her voice cold, detached.

"I don't get it. You are... _you_. You are my sister".

She shook her head and tried to explain. "Nibelloth was somebody else. Somebody who hadn't known pain or sorrow, who didn't need to fight. Somebody who had a home and a family".

"You still have me", Belegorn whispered.

"You..." She considered it for a while. "You are the only piece of Nibelloth that is still alive. My only connection with her".

"But you are her, and you are still here".

She shook her head fervently. She had to make him understand.

"A name is not just a word. It is something that symbolizes a whole being with certain traits, a certain character. So, when all of these traits change, how can the name remain the same?" She sighed and folded her arms across her chest. "I am not the same, Belegorn", she said solemnly. "I am a different person, and that name feels wrong now". She chuckled pathetically. "It is so damned haunted, anyway. Frankly, I don't want to hear that name again in my life".

It was a name fit to be on lips that now lay decomposing miles away, not to be uttered by the living. It belonged with the dead, and it would stay there.

The silence that followed was a heavy one. Crashes of thunder rolled in from the open window. A storm was coming from the south - again.

Then Belegorn spoke hesitantly.

"But... You do know we have to call you something, right? You can't go around being the Nameless One forever".

She left a humorless laugh to mask the pain this conversation was giving her. "What would you call me?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You are my brother, aren't you?"

He thought on it for a few moments. She had been hoping that he would answer something stupid, to tease her, but when he spoke he was dead serious.

"I can see what you are saying. Small flower... I remember when she named you that". She didn't have to ask to know of whom he was talking about: their mother. "It suited you back then. You were beautiful and fragile, like a shy bud on the brink of spring. Our little flower".

She turned away from him. She couldn't bear to look at his face, at this mixture of sorrow and love. A lump was burning at her throat and she swallowed hard, suddenly praying for him to stop, not wanting to hear anything more.

"But I can see it doesn't suit you anymore. You are beautiful as ever, my sister. Always so beautiful".

_Stop._

"But, like the light that flickers through this window, your beauty has been tainted by a shadow. You are still my flower, sister, but you are no more the fragile bud I knew. Experience has aged you, and your petals are stained".

 _Please stop_.

"You are not somebody else. You are still you, just different; like an image on the surface of water, distorted by the ripples. But I can still recognize you. I can still tell who you are, deep down: my stained flower".

Silence again. She had her back turned at him, so he couldn't see that she had her eyes shut tight and that she was biting hard on her lip to prevent it from trembling. The sincerity in his voice had made it worse. Seeing herself through his eyes hurt.

She didn't speak out of fear that he would hear her voice quiver. She took several long breaths and opened her eyes to the flashes of thunder illuminating the tops of distant trees. When she was sure her voice would sound steady again, she turned to face him.

" _Maeloth_ , then".


	4. Useful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's notes 1:** The introduction is officially over! Now we are diving to our main story.  
>  **Author's notes 2:** I have grown as a human being: I discovered "Berserk". Is that important enough to put in my author's notes? Perhaps not, but I did. After all, that is the reason why I haven't updated sooner. Seriously, anyone out there who hasn't read the manga: go read it!
> 
> Also, leave a review and I'll love you forever.

"I really can't sit around doing nothing".

"Here we go again". Belegorn rolled his eyes and sat up on his pillows. He eyed his sister and told her for the tenth time: "You need to rest as much as I do-"

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do!", he insisted.

"You don't get it!", Maeloth protested. "I've got to do something. I've got to help. And I've rested a lot already-"

"Two days pacing around this room does not count as resting. We've been through this. There's nothing more you can do about..." He trailed off, voice fading.

Maeloth scowled. "I know I can't change what happened. But I want to be ready so, if anything happens again, I'll be of more use".

Belegorn took a deep breath, let it out slowly and, by doing so, he winced in disdain. The atmosphere had not improved over the past few days; if anything it had gotten worse. It was like breathing tainted air, even in the Elvenking's halls.

"So what do you want to do?", he asked her wearily.

"I'm going to train to join Thranduil's army", she announced. Belegorn chuckled.

"You are no fighter. You barely know how to use a bow and you cannot even wield a sword".

"That's because I never really tried. Up until now, I didn't need to. But things have changed".

Whereas in her eyes was a stubborn gleam, Belegorn just looked resigned.

"I don't know, Maeloth". His voice was slow and quiet. "I don't know if that really makes any difference".

"You honestly don't believe that fighting back makes any difference?", she asked indignantly.

The more she raised her voice, the more Belegorn's tone dropped.

"The others fought, didn't they? That night... They fought". His voice was a whisper, his eyes empty, looking somewhere far away. "They knew how to wield a sword but, in the end, what good was it to them? The only ones who survived were us. The ones who didn't fight. The ones who ran away".

"Well, I don't want to be the one who always runs away".

Belegorn's gaze returned to her, now full of fear. "There are some things that you cannot fight". She could barely hear him now but his tone, his fear, his weakness only angered her.

"There is nothing that you cannot fight. Nothing". The harshness in her voice seemed to scare him more.

"You saw what happened! You saw! How could anyone fight against... something like that?"

"One can, if one is good enough. Strong enough".

"Yes, but you are not either!"

"I will be!", she shouted. Identical deep brown eyes looked into each other.

"Then you will die, too", he said sadly.

"No, Belegorn. I will die if I don't fight. We would be dead in the forest had I not fought!"

"This is different", he murmured. "Wanting to dive head-first into battle..."

"It doesn't matter whether I want it or not. You saw how it is. Death comes knocking whether you want it or not". She swallowed hard and voiced the thought that had been swirling around her head for days. "I won't tolerate being useless ever again".

A tentative silence fell between them. Belegorn looked scared and tired, while Maeloth was determined and stubborn.

After a while, Belegorn sighed.

"I can't lose you, too", he murmured.

She had made to leave, but his words stopped her. Her first impulse was to tell him 'you won't', but she couldn't bring herself to say it. It would feel like lying. At times like these, such words were nothing more than lies.

So she just said: "That's why I'm doing this. So that you won't lose me and I won't lose you".

He seemed eager to argue more about it, but Maeloth couldn't take any more of this conversation at the moment. She simply reached for her cloak - green, woolen and simple, given to them along with a few changes of clothes and two beds in the healing wards - and cast it over her shoulders. The move silenced Belegorn before he opened his mouth.

She approached his bed and kissed him hastily on his forehead, just to show him that he still held her affection, even if she went so firmly against his concerns over the past days. Or to show him that this was exactly the reason why she was being so defiant.

But the gesture was perfunctory and her gaze was cold and distant; somehow, that seemed to scare him even more.

* * *

When she stepped out on the corridor and closed the door of the healing ward behind her, she couldn't help sighing in relief. She didn't really want to leave Belegorn's side yet, but she hated that room. Rows of beds covered in perfectly fine, fragrant, white linen. Flowers in pots. Long windows, letting lots of sunlight in. A beautiful room to look at, on the whole, but she couldn't help but wonder how much pain, death and loss those walls had embraced.

So she sighed and gripped tighter at the folds of her cloak to suppress a shiver. They would soon move to another room, as soon as Belegorn regained some of his strength. Of course, she would stay with him even then, she had requested a room big enough to accommodate both of them. Perhaps later they could move to a small house. Who knew?

Anything but that healing ward.

She walked away from the door and headed down the corridor. Now she had to find Morfindir. She didn't know if he was the appropriate person to seek but he was, more or less, the only one she knew. He might not be in charge of the admittance or the training of new soldiers, but he could at least point her to the right direction.

After wandering around numerous corridors, she realized she had no idea where to actually find Morfindir. She was so absorbed in her own anxiety that she completely overlooked that detail.

For she was afraid. Belegorn's concerns had crossed her mind, too. She knew she was no fighter. She was not physically strong. She was adequately agile, but no more than the average elf. And yes, the night of the attack she had been terrified. No overwhelming courage, no cool head or a steady hand despite the pressure. Nothing remarkable at all.

Useless: the word that haunted her since then.

Quarreling with Belegorn hadn't been easy, for each and every word he said had crossed her mind, too. But she was determined. They shared the same fears, but whereas those fears crippled her brother, they gave Maeloth the resolve needed to spring into action. Guilt and anger at herself - at her own uselessness - compelled her forward. It was a cold and detached feeling, this type of determination. A will to prove someone wrong; only she didn't know who.

It was a solution, ultimately. It felt like one. Something to do, to not sit idly when so much had happened. And having something to do was comforting.

She finally managed to track down Morfindir after asking a few passing elves. She found him near the stables, having only recently returned from a scouting mission. He looked worried and tired but, when he saw her approaching, his face lit up with a friendly smile.

"Ah! Hello, Nameless One! Or do you actually have a name? What did the King call you the other day? Nib-"

"Maeloth", she cut across him. Then, hoping she hadn't sounded too stern, she added in a softer tone: "If you want to call me something, you can call me Maeloth".

The black-haired elf considered her for a moment. The meaning of her name did not elude him, as neither had the meaning of her previous one. However, he didn't question the change. He just said in his warm and friendly tone: "Well, I'm glad that we finally get to introduce ourselves properly". He bowed politely.

Maeloth bowed back, but his kind approach had done little to ease the nervous feeling in her stomach. Mouth dry, she said: "They told me I might find you here. I was looking for you".

He seemed pleasantly surprised. "Me? Why?"

"I... I...", she stammered, not knowing how to phrase what she wanted. Her stomach was a knot. She willed some fierceness in herself and looked Morfindir straight in the eye. "I wanted to ask something of you. I want your help".

"With what?"

"I want to train. To serve the King. I want to fight". She noticed with satisfaction that her voice didn't quiver. Good. A nice, small step towards becoming a soldier.

Morfindir blinked, black eyelashes batting over black eyes. He seemed concerned.

"Are you sure?". No cheerfulness in his voice now. His tone was serious, reminding her of the day he had rescued her.

She clenched her fists. "Yes", she said firmly, maintaining eye contact.

Morfindir stayed quiet for a while, simply looking at her. A cloud seemed to pass over his features and something knowing stirred in his eyes. Something sad. She remembered with uneasiness that he had witnessed her meltdown in the throne room a few days earlier. But still, his eyes didn't lose their warmth.

"Have you ever had any previous training?", he inquired quietly.

Maeloth shook her head. "I know how to use a bow, but... I'm not that good with it".

"Who taught you?"

She bit her lip but resisted the urge to close her eyes tightly. "My older brother. He is..." She didn't finish her sentence. Didn't really feel she had to.

Morfindir frowned slightly. "I thought Belegorn was your brother. Older, if I remember correctly".

"Yes, he is older, but... There were more". And that was about all she managed to say before her throat started constricting.

Morfindir noticed her upset and asked no more. "Well... As a matter of fact, I can help you. I will speak to commander Adan about you. But I have to warn you: the training sessions will be hard. I hope you are sure that this is what you really want.

"I am", she stated firmly, even though a voice in her head whispered that it didn't really matter whether she wanted it or not; it was the only thing she could do.

"All right, then. Let us head back. I have to give my report to my commander. Oh, and..." He stopped before taking more than two steps and turned to face her again. "From now on, you will have to call me 'captain'. In front of others, that is". His gaze was piercing, but he was smiling.

Maeloth felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She hadn't even considered the rank of the man she had sought out.

"My apologies, captain!", she said hastily and bowed. "I did not mean to be disrespectful".

Morfindir laughed. "No need to worry about it. I prefer to be called by my name, actually. But, if you indeed join us, I'm afraid that such titles will be obligatory in front of other soldiers".

"Of course", she murmured, cheeks still fuchsia.

They headed back to the palace together but, once silent, Morfindir's features became tormented by concern again.

Maeloth hesitated but in the end she dared ask: "Is the report bad... Captain?"

"Hmm? Oh... Yes, I'm afraid so", he said absentmindedly. He sighed. "I'm not supposed to say more to civilians, but I think I should tell you. Soon, it will be your job, too". She looked at him expectantly. "Giant spiders have appeared in the Forest. They managed to create a colony in just two days and they are infecting more and more parts of the forest as we speak".

"Spiders?", Maeloth echoed in disbelief. Morfindir nodded slowly.

"Nasty creatures. Full of darkness and hatred".

"Do they come... from the south? The southern parts?" She tried to make her voice sound indifferent, but she wasn't successful.

"We think so. We will be sure after the return of the next scouting party".

He came to a halt in front of a carved door. "If you'll excuse me. This is my commander's office". He bowed and said: "I'll see you soon, Maeloth".

* * *

Morfindir was indeed very helpful. After two days Maeloth was able to start her training and, when she was ready, she would join Morfindir's unit.

But that was the easy part. The hard part proved to be the training itself.

All aspiring fighters had to train with the sword, bow, knives, shield and hand-to-hand combat. There weren't many trainees - Maeloth was one of the few - but her instructor had a handful with her alone. The instructor, Emerion, was one of the oldest elves of Greenwood and had taught hundreds of students, including the prince himself. He was patient and encouraging but Maeloth could see that, even though he was doing his best, she was a dreadful pupil. Not meant to be a fighter, as Belegorn had told her.

However, she wouldn't give up. She trained hard from dawn till nightfall, returning to her room only to rest.

She and Belegorn had moved to to a room in the northern wing of the palace, among the servants' quarters. Belegorn was deemed adequately healed to leave the healing wards - or at least his body was. The healers did whatever they could for his exhausted body and he regained his strength, but the rest was up to him. His body was never the real challenge: it was sadness that was eating him away. Maeloth had suggested to come and train with her, just to give him something to do, but he refused.

He refused everything. He rarely came out of his room, or spoke to anyone apart his sister. He sat by the window with his gaze lost towards the north. Occasionally he would read, but mostly he ended up staring blankly at the pages. When Maeloth was with him he seemed marginally more lively, but he would soon dive again into his usual cold and catatonic state.

Ever since Maeloth started training she spent less hours with him. In her mind it didn't matter, for she was doing this for both of them. She couldn't do much even when being with him, anyway. He just needed time. He would eventually break through this melancholy, she was sure of it. He had promised that he would never leave her; that meant that he would not let himself fade away. He had promised. He just needed time.

Sometimes he came down to the training grounds to watch Maeloth, but he never stayed for long. Maeloth was relieved whenever he left to return to their room; she had enough trouble struggling with her sword, she did not need Belegorn's I-told-you-so gaze.

She was trying her hardest, but it wasn't good enough. However, her incompetence only made her more determined. It gave fuel to this self-resentment that had propelled her towards fighting in the first place. Training was tiring and painful - and it felt good. Each time she fell, each time she hurt herself, each bruise felt like she deserved it. Like she had to feel like this, like it was only fair. She had run from the pain and suffering, from the death she was entitled to, so now she was paying the price.

 _Try harder_. That was the only incitement she gave to herself. It was either this, or the voice that called her useless. So she tried harder.

Morfindir came to check on her occasionally. That was the worst part for her. He was to be her captain, he had vouched for her, so she couldn't bear failing again and again in front of him. For fail she did. Whether it was the sword, or the knives. She was decent with the bow, but nothing extraordinary. But failing was one thing on its own; failing in front of Morfindir was much worse. She did not dare look at him, lest she see the disappointment in his eyes.

So it was that one night she stormed back to her room, palms almost bleeding, arms and legs bruised and face flushed with anger. She slammed the door behind her and threw her sword to the floor - a standard training sword, borrowed from the armory, that clanked and echoed across the marble. The noise made Belegorn look up. He was sitting by the window as usual, a book in his hands. He looked passively at the heaving form of his sister.

"You are late", he said coolly.

She bit back the urge to swear and rushed to the basin with the water. She looked at her reflection in the mirror that hung above the furniture with the pots. Her brown curls were plastered on her sweaty temples and she had a small bleeding gash on her chin. A gash she had inflicted on herself by accident - and it was not the first.

She let out an exasperated grunt. _Useless_.

"So... Training didn't go well?", Belegorn asked as she splashed some water on her face. She gave him a deadly look instead of an answer. "I see...", he commented softly.

She reached for dry clothes, almost ripping the sweaty ones in her frustration.

"Useless", she whispered it this time. Belegorn raised an eyebrow. "What?", she barked at him. "A party left again to fight off the spiders, and I was left behind - again! I stayed here, doing nothing! The others are out there risking their lives and I'm still trying to win against a damned straw target!"

"You know, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. It's only been a month since you started training. Surely you cannot expect to be an accomplished fighter in such a short-"

"I couldn't even manage to hit a straw target right! A straw target! A perfectly still, passive target! Instead, I managed to give myself this!" She showed the gash on her chin. As she glanced at Belegorn, she noticed the book he was holding. He was on the same page he had been in the morning, before she left. This, for some reason, only made her angrier.

"You need to rest", he told her.

"Oh yeah, I see how well that works for you!" she lashed out.

The hurt in his eyes did not soften her. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Maeloth let an angry huff and went to open the door, only to have her anger instantly give way to surprise and embarrassment when she saw Morfindir on the threshold.

"Captain!" she exclaimed.

"Good evening, Maeloth. Good evening, Belegorn", he added, looking past her shoulder. "I hope I am not disturbing. I know it's late, but I wanted to speak to you".

"Of course. Would you like to come in?"

"Actually, would you mind if we took a walk?"

"Not at all", Maeloth answered. She cast a glance at Belegorn before leaving; he had a dark look on his face, undoubtedly still hurt from her previous words.

Morfindir probably noticed it too, for he said: "Don't worry, I won't keep her for long".

Belegorn didn't say anything and Maeloth joined Morfindir, closing the door to her brother's brooding face.

The corridor outside was empty, lit by a few torches and the moonlight that drifted in from the high windows. Morfindir motioned her to follow him and they started walking along the long line of windows.

"I am sorry for interrupting your rest", he said after a while.

"I wasn't resting. I just got back from practice", she murmured.

Morfindir nodded. "You are overexerting yourself".

"I have to. There's much room for improvement and if I don't work hard-"

"Actually, that is why I wanted to talk to you".

Maeloth closed her mouth and looked at his face anxiously, trying to read his features. Dread started crawling up her throat. Had he come to kick her out of his unit? To tell her there was no point in further training?

"Let us sit here. The view is beautiful".

He indicated a window and moved towards it. He leaned on the windowsill and looked outside for a few moments. He was wearing the deep green soldier's attire, much like the one Maeloth was wearing, along with a leather vest and his long sword dangling by his hip. His face was serene, illuminated beautifully by the silver moonlight, his black hair glinting in a hypnotic way. He didn't look like he was about to reprimand her, but still Maeloth couldn't rid the sickening, burning sensation that spread on the back of her throat.

"Look, Sir...", she started hoarsely, "I know I haven't been doing well in training, but I am trying-"

"I know you are", he smiled. Not disappointed or stern, but kind as ever. "I have been talking with your instructor. He is worried, in fact, that you try too hard. As I told you, you are overexerting yourself".

She approached him and leaned on the other side of the windowsill. "Well, I have to! I am awful! If I don't try hard-"

" _'Awful'_? Who says so?"

"Isn't it obvious?", and she pointed to her hurt chin.

Morfindir laughed quietly. "This? You should have seen me when I started training! Maeloth, you are not awful! You are asking too much of yourself too fast. And you seem to forget that rest and a clean mind are as necessary in training as, well, training itself. Of course you'll cut yourself after twelve hours of sword fighting!"

Maeloth blinked a few times, trying to digest what he just told her.

"So... You are not here to kick me out?"

This time Morfindir laughed loudly. "Of course not! I'm worried that you'll pass out from exhaustion in the middle of the training grounds! As your brother is, I'm sure. Ah, yes", he said, responding to her questioning frown. "I'm afraid I heard you before knocking. You were pretty loud, you know". She averted her gaze and looked at the view, without really looking. "You shouldn't be so hard on him", he added quietly. She knew he was referring to her last words towards Belegorn. "He's doing his best, just like you".

A scowl crept back into her face. "It sure doesn't look like it most of the times", she murmured.

"Each one of us has different ways of fighting their battles. You chose the sword".

"And much good it does for me, too!", she huffed.

"You are doing better than you think".

"With all due respect, captain, it's not hard to see that I am dreadful with weapons".

"You have fine traits. You are not strong, but you are fast. We can work on that. It's a good base". He placed a soothing hand on her shoulder and gave her a smile, one that seemed to warm her to her core. The sickening anxiousness abated slowly. "And, please, since there is no one around, call me Morfindir. If everyone keeps calling me 'captain', I'll forget my name!".

Maeloth started laughing.

Morfindir chuckled. "I'm glad I managed to make you feel better. I don't think I've seen you smile before".

Maeloth felt her cheeks flush, and this time it was not from anger nor embarrassment. She only hoped that it would be dark enough for Morfindir not to notice.

Running steps echoed across the corridor and an elf appeared around the corner.

"Captain!", he panted.

"What's wrong, Arphenion?"

"Sir, Prince Legolas is back with his report. They asked all units to gather immediately. They need us all present".

"Thank you, Arphenion", Morfindir said and turned to Maeloth. "Come on, let's go".

"What, me too?", she asked in surprise.

Morfindir raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you hear? They said 'all units'".

Under his knowing look Maeloth couldn't suppress a small, proud smile.

"All right. Let's go, captain".

And they both hurried after Arphenion.


	5. First Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's notes:** Don't forget to tell me if you spot any mistakes, typos or whatnot, so that I may correct them.

Maeloth followed Arphenion and Morfindir out to a great open area next to the training grounds. Almost every Elf soldier had gathered there; moonlight reflected off dark heads, or was gleaming on the hilts of sheathed swords. Hundreds of gleaming hilts everywhere.

"Just follow Arphenion", Morfindir told her hastily before leaving to join the rest of the captains and his commander.

Maeloth dived into the crowd after Arphenion, looking around apprehensively. Everybody was armed and ready for battle. She felt terribly out of place, but there was still this flutter of pride in her heart as she found herself among all those fighters. She tried to mimic the posture and the rigidity of their solemn faces.

She looked straight ahead, to the very front of their lines, and she spotted Morfindir talking to an armor-clad elf. Right next to them was the prince of Woodland Realm himself, Legolas Thranduillion. She had seen him only once before, but he was easy to recognize, thanks to his golden hair, a trait he had undoubtedly inherited from his father and that was uncommon for the Forest Folk. A councilor was talking to him and he was nodding slowly, his eyes downcast and his forehead frowned.

The truth was that, once she laid eyes on him, it was hard to look away; even at this moment, when he looked so sad and anxious, he was extraordinarily beautiful, even for an Elf.

As she was observing him, prince Legolas took a step forward and looked at the gathered Elves; all murmurs and conversations died away.

All eyes were on the prince as he spoke.

"Thank you, everyone, for your quick response to my call. You have been called here so suddenly and at this hour because a great threat is upon us". His voice took a more stern tone. "In the last hours a great number of spiders managed to overrun two of our outposts and, as we speak, a third one is under attack. The capital of the Woodland Realm is under imminent threat. Should that outpost fall, too, the spiders will advance to the capital and the palace". Low gasps and murmurs accompanied the last of his sentences. The prince raised his voice. "We have to retaliate fast. We must eliminate the threat and secure our Realm! We cannot let creatures of darkness roam undisturbed in our land! They think they caught us sleeping, but we will strike back!".

The soldiers stomped their feet once in readiness, eyes decisive and brave. Sword hilts gleamed restlessly.

"General Daeron?", Legolas turned to the man next to him, at the same time taking a step back modestly.

"Thank you, prince Legolas", said the man with a small bow; his voice was deep and quite harsh, unlike the melodic voices that were common among the Elf-folk. The commander's eyes scanned the gathered soldiers and all gazes fixed on him this time: on his austere features, the golden badge on his chest, the long, white scar on his forehead. He coughed once to clear his throat and spoke in a loud and imperative tone. "Adan", he turned to a man to his left, "you and your men secure the west gate. Lairion and prince Legolas, find the royal guard and secure the perimeter of the city and the palace. Gorvon, Talathion, Morfindir, prepare your squads for battle. You will come with me to the outpost, they need reinforcements immediately. Hurry, there isn't a moment to lose!"

All captains bowed curtly after receiving their orders. The first ones gestured to their units to follow them and left hastily.

Maeloth saw Morfindir turning to where she and the rest of his squad stood. "You heard the general. Prepare for battle!", he cried.

Maeloth's gasp was drown into the noise as hundreds of feet shuffled and voices shouted orders. She looked around, at the men next to her. They were fully armed, most of them dressed in leather armor, whereas she didn't even have her sword. It was probably still on the floor of her room, where she had thrown it.

But Morfindir couldn't possibly mean her, too. She couldn't fight yet. She wasn't ready for battle. She couldn't even move among her fellow soldiers, let alone get into formation and fight.

She looked at Morfindir bewildered, a sickening panic chocking her. Before she even knew what she was doing, she was elbowing her way towards him, shouting: "Captain! Captain!"

She reached him, out of breath, not caring that she was obviously interrupting an important discussion with another captain.

"Don't worry, I'll cover the west wall and send a few men to the other outposts to look for survivors", she heard him say.

"Captain Morfindir!", she panted and he finally turned to her.

"Maeloth!", he exclaimed; and, before she could say anything more: "I was just about to come and look for you. Listen", he placed both his hands on her shoulders and lowered his voice, "I want you to stay on the back and follow the orders. We haven't had much time to practice, but listen to Feredir and stay safe. He's my lieutenant, I'll tell him to-"

"But- But you can't expect me to fight!", she cut across him.

"You are a member of my squad now, Maeloth", he said, his calm tone in contrast with her panicked one. "We need every soldier out there. Stay calm, stay focused and don't worry. I'll make sure you stay out of battle".

"But-"

"Trust me, you'll be safe". His hand squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. His eyes sank into hers for a moment: deep black like a tranquil night sky, undisturbed by the chaos that raged around them.

"I don't even have a sword!", she said desperately.

"We have a few minutes. Run to the armory, grab a sword and a bow. Go!"

Maeloth nodded, without stopping to consider what she was agreeing to, turned around and started running. The armory wasn't far, but again, she didn't want to be left behind again.

As she ran and the noise and voices died away behind her, she came to realize her panic was giving way to another feeling: excitement. She was going to battle. She was going to help protect the Woodland Realm. The Forest Folk. And Belegorn. She would finally do something, however small.

She was afraid, of course. Morfindir said she'd stay out of battle, but she couldn't see how that was possible, since with would be on the battlefield along with the others.

"Spiders", she breathed as she ran. In a way, she was glad it was spiders and not Orcs. She hadn't seen giant spiders before, she had no idea what to expect - and exactly how big was  _'giant'_? - but it was better this way. She didn't know how she would react in front of an Orc. Not after that night.

She reached the armory, grabbed the first sword she found, a longbow and a quiver with arrows and pelted back as fast as she could. By the time she reached her squad, the rest of the soldiers had gotten into formation and waited for the order to march. She hesitated for a few seconds, not really knowing where to go. There was no empty space for her.

A hand shot out and grabbed her, strongly but not unkindly. She found herself being pulled into the tightly formed lines of soldiers.

"Here, this should be fine", a pleasant male voice told her. Maeloth turned to see the smiling, youthful face of a man. His hand released her and gave her a friendly pat. He had placed her next to him, in the middle of a line close to the end of the squad; around her, the other elves were moving, rearranging their positions to accommodate Maeloth among them.

"I'm Eglerion", the smiling elf told her, holding out his hand.

Maeloth shook it gratefully. "I'm Maeloth. Thank you for..." She made a gesture, showing the line of soldiers.

"No need to thank me. It's your first time, right?"

She nodded, anxiousness blooming again in the pit of her stomach. Eglerion was wearing a leather armor, too, like the rest of them. Maeloth was feeling rather exposed compared to her fellow soldiers, even though she was essentially circled by an armor of living bodies. At least, she was wearing the fighters' attire: the deep green pants and the tunic, which was comfortable enough for battle. Better than wearing a dress, anyway.

"Don't worry", Eglerion told her, his bright green eyes sparkling above his playful smile. "Stay close to me and you'll be fine".

She nodded again, not knowing if she should be reassured. He was the second person to tell her not to worry and that she would be safe, but that felt like empty promises. How could anyone be sure of such things? As far as she knew, in battle no one was safe enough.

She gripped her sword tightly and watched her knuckles whiten over the hilt. Other people's promises were nice, but she wouldn't rely too much on them. She would keep herself safe on her own.

Morfindir's voice echoed above the rest and they marched out towards the forest. They headed southwest, to the outpost where the battle was raging. The moon shone above, but darkness was unnaturally deep under the shelter of the trees.

The march to the outpost was shorter than Maeloth expected - or perhaps it was that she was mentally going through every move she had learned in training during the past month. She didn't know if she actually wanted to battle or stay out of harm's way, as Morfindir had instructed. She was glad and quite proud to be out there with the rest of the squad, but her training seemed now tragically inadequate. If she indeed got hurt, then Belegorn... He would remain all alone.

No, she had to be careful. For him. Staying out of battle wasn't such a bad idea for now.

Yet she yearned to swing her sword and prove - to herself, mostly - that she could fight. And, perhaps, pay back the enemy for all the harm he had inflicted on her with a bit of harm of her own.

"Squad, halt!"

They all stopped, keeping as quiet as possible. They could discern noise and voices coming from the darkness ahead, along with some bloodcurdling clicking sounds.

"All right", Morfindir said quietly, as the other captains and the general gave orders to their own squads. "Hadron, take a few men and go west to the outposts, to look for injured ones. Feredir, you and your team stay here, spread out and keep a lookout. Send word immediately if you get in trouble".

"That's us", Eglerion whispered to Maeloth.

"The rest, follow me and general Daeron. Good luck, everyone, and may Elbereth's grace protect you".

Everybody started moving out, except for a group of fifteen soldiers, including Maeloth and Eglerion. As she watched the rest fade into darkness, she couldn't suppress a disappointed sigh.

So, that's what he meant when he said that she would be safe. She was really to stay out of battle.

But that was probably the wisest thing to do. She would do the same if she was in Morfindir's place.

"Spread out and hide on a tree. Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious!", an Elf told them; probably Feredir, Morfindir's lieutenant.

"Come on, let's go", Eglerion murmured to Maeloth, nudging her gently. "Here...", they approached two other men. "This is Tunir and Arphenion".

"We've met once already", Arphenion said while shaking her hand; Maeloth recognized him as the elf that had come to call her and Morfindir earlier that evening. She shook hands with Tunir, too, and they walked together until Eglerion stopped them under a big tree.

"This looks good enough. You come with me, Maeloth", he said and started climbing. She followed him until they were high enough and they settled on two large branches. Tunir and Arphenion were climbing the opposite tree, hiding well among the leaves.

"Take out your bow", Eglerion whispered.

She did as he told her and put an arrow on the string. She squinted at the darkness, but nothing was moving. She could still hear those creepy sounds coming from the west, to her left.

Soon, the noises grew louder and she could hear some inhuman, spine-chilling shrieks.

"The rest of us probably joined the battle", Eglerion whispered.

"Have you fought giant spiders before?", Maeloth asked him, keeping her voice as low as possible.

"Oh, yes. They have been pestering us a lot this past month. And they are constantly multiplying. Those filthy, bastardized descendants of the accursed Ungoliant..."

"Hey! Quiet, you two!", Arphenion's whisper was just loud enough to reach their elven ears.

Eglerion smiled slyly and went on, in a voice somewhat lower than before. "So, yeah, they've been quite annoying. They're easy to fight when they're alone, but things can become dangerous when they're in a swarm. And, um...", he leaned towards her, "just in case something unexpected happens... Watch out for their claws. They have a very nasty venom and they are very strong, so you'll want to avoid them".

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind", she whispered.

They remained silent, listening to the battle noises that reached them through the trees. There were some sounds that made the hair on the back of Maeloth's neck stand. Rattling - of claws, as she now came to realize - hissing and faint cursing.

It felt weird, standing so close to danger and possible death and sitting this calm in the still darkness. There was something absurd about it. She could hear yells from the other soldiers every now and then and wondered what was happening. They could be in serious need of help; perhaps they should stop sitting around on those trees and go help them.

"Do you think we should-?", she started saying, but Eglerion shook his head.

"No. The orders were clear. We are to stay here". Then he smiled softly. "You have to have more faith in Morfindir. The captain knows what he's doing. He hasn't failed us up until now, so... Have faith in his orders".

Another absurd thing. Everyone kept telling her not to worry, that all would be well. But those were yells and shrieks and roars that were reaching them. How could anybody be so sure that all was well? Morfindir could be hurt, or dead, for all they knew.

At this thought she felt panic hit her like a blow right in the belly. No, Morfindir couldn't be dead... Right?

And why in Elbereth's name was she so worried about him all of a sudden?

She exhaled slowly and squinted harder at the darkness. The best thing she could do now was do as Eglerion told her: have faith in her captain and follow his orders. So she kept her left hand on her bow's grip and the other on the string, with the feathers of a nocked arrow between her index and middle finger, and tried to find a more comfortable position on the branch.

It was impossible to know how much time had passed, since neither the moon nor the stars were visible under the dome of leaves and branches, but Maeloth estimated that they sat like this for the best part of an hour before she finally spotted movement down the path she had been staring. She couldn't make out much, but she thought she caught the gleaming of eyes.

Too many eyes.

And they were coming towards them.

She nudged Eglerion quietly and indicated towards the movement. He sat a bit straighter, gripping his bow, too. Maeloth looked at the opposite tree and caught Tunir's eye; they had also noticed the threat. Tunir gestured them to wait.

A set of eight eyes was the first thing they discerned. Then, under them, a pair of claws. Steadily, more sets of eyes appeared around the first; and more; and more.

The elves pulled the strings of their bows. Maeloth pointed her arrow at the far left set of eyes. No arrow was released yet; they waited until they could clearly see the bodies of the giant spiders, black and hairy, mingling with the shadows around them. With a quick count, as far as she could see, there were twenty of them, and their sizes were anywhere between 1.5 to 2 meters. They were trotting down the path, oblivious to the hidden elves, no doubt hurrying to reinforce their kind in the battle.

They had almost reached their tree when the first arrow flew towards them. Maeloth released her string, too, along with the others; her arrow found the spider in one of its eight eyes. Before the beasts realized what was going on, the elves had fired another wave of arrows and seven spiders were already lying dead, while an eighth one was staggering around, shrieking and clanking her claws.

That was when the rest of the spiders started hissing aggressively, spitting out dark, sticky threads all around them. Many of the arrows got stuck in the webs and the spiders avoided the rest, running around madly, jumping and climbing on the trees.

"Do not let them get on the trees!", Arphenion shouted and Maeloth saw him and Tunir jump down, swords in hands and ready for close combat. When the spiders saw them, they stopped trying to climb the trees and charged towards them.

"Maeloth, stay up here and fire at them! Aim for their eyes!", Eglerion told her before jumping down too.

She nocked an arrow, heart beating badly, exhaling again and again to abate the trembling in her hands. It was hard to take proper aim, they were all moving around so fast. She was afraid she might even hit one of the elves the way they danced around the beasts.

In the end she decided she couldn't hesitate forever, so she fired an arrow. She hit a spider straight in the eye and it fell with a dull thud, turning over and curling its eight legs.

"Yes!", she breathed triumphantly and drew again the string. Her next arrow missed the eyes, but it hit a spider in the head nonetheless.

Arphenion shouted; his leg was trapped in a web. A spider was dashing towards him, a strange hissing laugh in its horrible mouth. Maeloth aimed at it but she missed by a few centimeters. Tunir and Eglerion ran towards Arphenion, too, Eglerion sending a throwing knife at the spider at the same time. Webs were flying around in the air. The most of the spiders were dead, but the ones left were the bigger and cleverer ones.

A claw barely missed Eglerion; Maeloth fired at the spider that tried to attack him, but her arrow got stuck in a web. Arphenion was fighting with one leg immobilized and Tunir was trying to bring a particularly huge spider down.

Maeloth spotted a spider hurrying towards Eglerion, flinging its hideous threads all around. An arrow would get stuck again, so no use for them.

She did not need to pause and think. She let her bow fall and unsheathed her sword. Then, just as the spider was passing under her tree, she held her breath and jumped.

She thought she heard someone yell; next thing she knew, she landed on the spider's hairy back, her heels hitting hard on its exoskeleton and her sword buried to the hilt in the beast's much softer head. Maeloth swayed a bit, dizzy from the fall, but gripped the hilt of her sword tighter. With a grunt she pulled it out of the spider's head with a horrible squishing sound. Black blood oozed from the wound as the beast toppled over.

She jumped off its back as it fell, glad to find her feet on firm ground. Her own blood was flowing so hard in her veins that her ears were filled with a loud thumping. extinguishing all other sounds.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

She relished the sound of her heart for a second, before raising her sword and charging to the next spider.

It spat a thread; she ducked. It seemed to be clicking its claws; she couldn't hear it.

And then the beast's shriek, high-pitched enough for her to hear, as she sank the blade of her sword in the middle of its set of eight eyes. Hot blood splashed Maeloth's face, thick and foul-smelling, but she didn't relinquish the grip on her sword. She grit her teeth and twisted her sword a bit, watching as life seeped out of the eight bestial eyes.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

She pulled her sword and turned around, ready to fight the next one, but there was no next one. All the spiders lay on the ground, Tunir finishing off the last one.

Eglerion was coming towards her, shouting something she couldn't hear over the buzzing in her ears. She took a deep breath and realized that she was trembling - trembling again, damn it! Eglerion's hands clamped on her shoulders, his expression something between anguish and elation.

"Maeloth! Are you all right?", he shouted in her face.

She blinked stupidly, considering his question for way too long. "Yes...", she murmured finally. "Yes, I'm fine".

"That was awesome!", he said with a huge grin. "I owe you one!"

"No... No, I just..." She blinked again. It was as if she came to realize just now what she had done. The loud thumping in her ears did not seem to abate.

"No need to be modest!" He clapped her on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go help Arphenion. Are you sure you're all right?", he asked her again, furrowing his eyebrows.

She looked at her sword. The thick, black blood was dripping off the blade to the also blood-soaked ground. And she had done that. She had jumped off a tree on a spider's back. And she had charged right into another one's claws. And she had made it out unharmed. She had made it.

She had actually fought, and she had made it.

"Yes, I'm fine", she said again, more certain this time, and hurried to help Arphenion.


	6. Comrades

They were piling up the dead spiders in a clearing when Feredir, Morfindir's lieutenant, came to check on them. His clothes were bloodstained, too. As it turned out, his group had also been fighting with the spiders just a few clearings to the south. However, he seemed to be in high spirits as he jogged towards them.

"Victory!", he shouted. "I just got word from the captain! The outpost is ours! The spiders - whatever was left of them - retreated to the south. They even abandoned the two western outposts they had overrun!"

Maeloth jeered along with the others, relief washing over her. A few hours ago, who would have thought that things would go this well?

"The captain and the others will be back shortly. We should burn these carcasses before leaving", Feredir went on.

He helped them move the last bodies and set them on fire. A disgusting smell arose from the burning corpses, forcing them to run away from the putrid smoke.

"I hope the wind doesn't change anytime soon", Eglerion said once they were far enough, still coughing.

"Better than leaving them there to rot. They would attract more foul beings", Arphenion said.

"Why worry? I bet Maeloth here could take them all on!", Eglerion laughed, flinging his arm around her shoulders and giving her an one-arm squeeze.

Maeloth gave an uncomfortable chuckle. "No, I... I was just really lucky", she murmured.

"Oh, look at her, still playing modest!"

"Leave the woman alone, you jester!", Tunir said, grabbing Eglerion and pulling him away. "It was her first battle, give her some space to clear her head!"

She let a small laugh despite herself. She wasn't used to this kind of light-hearted teasing, this good-willed intimacy, the joking over something serious. Yet she couldn't help but notice how much warmth a joke or a laugh could spread. It was kind of relieving.

"The captain is coming!", shouted an elf.

"Come on, let's get into formation", Feredir said.

The elven army seemed intact, apart from a few soldiers with minor injuries. Almost everybody was stained with black spider blood, just like Maeloth. The smell of that thing was terrible. She had used her sleeve to wipe away most of the blood that had splashed her face, but she could feel the dried remnants that had crusted on her cheeks. The blood had seeped through her clothes, too, and she wished nothing more that a good bath and some rest.

And to see Belegorn. She couldn't wait to tell him what happened; lucky or not, she had slain two spiders all alone, and managed to hit more with her arrows. She had fought and she was proud of it.

Perhaps Eglerion was right about her  _acting_  modest. On the inside, she didn't feel modest at all. She was still jittery and a bit shook up but, as she saw the elven army marching back, all of them alive and well and victorious, those feelings started fading away. It was amazing how triumphant this small victory could make her feel. And the warmth she felt as she marched home, next to Eglerion, Arphenion, Tunir and all the others, was unlike anything she had felt before. She couldn't really put her finger on what that feeling was, but it felt... good.

They were approaching the palace walls when Morfindir came to find her.

"Maeloth! There you are! I'm glad to see you are all right".

"Captain Morfindir!", she greeted him with an impulsive smile; yes, all the anxiousness from before was definitely washing away.

"You look like you had a hard fight", he said, observing her blood-soaked tunic.

He did not look so clean, either. In fact, he was more bloodied than she was, and he had a rip on his sleeve over his bicep.

"I just fought two spiders", she replied modestly. "I'm sure you faced much worse".

"Yes, but you were not supposed to fight on your first day".

"She was amazing, captain!", Eglerion intervened, patting Maeloth's shoulder enthusiastically. "You wouldn't believe it if you saw her!"

"Really?", Morfindir smiled at her.

She flushed and said in a small voice: "He's exaggerating".

"No, I'm not!"

"I want to hear everything! Not now, though. I'll see you all later at the headquarters. Eglerion, make sure you show her the way!"

"Aye, captain! I wouldn't let her miss it, anyway!"

"Miss what?", Maeloth asked when Morfindir left.

"Why, the party, of course! The drinks of victory! I heard they brought a really good wine from Minhiriath", Eglerion beamed.

"So, you all gather after the battle?"

"Yup, and you're not gonna miss it!"

Maeloth smiled and shook her head. "No, I wouldn't want to miss that".

"No, or else the captain would have me chase you down". He cast her a mischievous look.

"What? What does that mean?", she frowned, suddenly conscious of the burning in her cheeks.

"Oh, come on. The captain coming personally to check on you? Not to mention the way he looks at-"

"Hush!", Maeloth urged him desperately, looking around to see if someone was eavesdropping, effectively turning her head away from Eglerion while doing so. Then again, he wouldn't be able to see her blush under all the dried spider blood.

"Don't worry, no one's paying attention to us".

"Either way, don't say such things!", she whispered.

"Why are you so embarrassed?"

"Oh, stop it!", she pushed his grinning face away and heard him laugh.

It was hard for her to keep a straight face among the general euphoria. Once in the palace, Eglerion grabbed her by the hand and dragged her to the second floor, where most of their unit was gathered. Dawn would break soon and from the headquarter's balcony they could see the deep black sky turning to blue.

"There you go!", Eglerion put a goblet with wine in her hands.

A few elves started singing and soon others joined in, clapping their hands in the rhythm. Eglerion and Maeloth found Tunir, sitting around a table with a group of elves she hadn't met before.

"Everybody, this is Maeloth!", Eglerion said as he sat down and pulled a stool for her right next to him. "Hey, Maeloth, this is Beldor, Orchalion, Torphen and Yrdaer", he introduced her as she shook hands with everyone, trying to memorize names and faces, all of this being a bit too overwhelming for her. The truth was that she was never good at making friends, and she didn't have that many in the past - or at least, she thought she didn't. She couldn't really remember.

Then again, what was before didn't matter. Not anymore. Things were different now.

She raised her goblet and drank a big gulp of wine. When the sweet drink hit her tongue, she closed her eyes in pleasure. Eglerion had been right, it really was delicious.

"What, without a toast?", she heard Eglerion say and turned to see him pouting. Then he raised his goblet and said: "To Maeloth, our new comrade and sister-in-arms, who fought her first battle tonight and has saved my ass once already!"

"By the stars, you really talk like a Man sometimes!", Tunir said, exasperated.

"Pay no mind to Eglerion", Beldor leaned towards her and winked. "He's a half-elf".

"Oh, no!", Eglerion shouted dramatically and brought his palm to his forehead like he was feeling faint. "Thank you, Beldor, for revealing the secret that  _everybody_  knows!"

"A half-elf? Like Elrond of Rivendell?", Maeloth asked with interest.

"Yes! But, even though I thoroughly enjoy being compared to lord Elrond, I'm afraid that's the only thing we have in common!", he said and everybody laughed.

"Will we drink or what?", Tunir asked.

"Ah, yes. To Maeloth!", Eglerion said, raising his goblet towards her; she couldn't suppress a shy smile.

"To Maeloth!", everybody said and drank.

"So, why don't you tell us how you  _'saved his ass'_?", Beldor asked her.

"Ah, yes, I'd love to hear that story", Maeloth heard Morfindir's voice behind her and almost choked on her wine.

"Captain, come sit with us!", everybody shouted.

"I will, I will!", he laughed and dropped himself in a seat next to Maeloth, holding a goblet full to the brim. He had already changed into a clean set of clothes and his hair was freshly combed and shiny in the torchlight. He drank and hummed appreciatively.

"So, captain, everything went fine? No casualties?", Maeloth asked him, trying to uphold a serious composure despite Eglerion's meaningful nudging to her left side.

"Better than expected, actually! That's why we have every reason to celebrate. We hope that the spiders won't bother us again anytime soon".

"That's great!", she exclaimed, kicking Eglerion under the table and effectively managing to make him leave her alone.

"Yes, it is. Now, tell me... You ended up fighting, didn't you?", Morfindir asked her, lowering his voice just enough to keep their conversation private.

"Yes, spiders came from the north. Not many, but still-"

He was shaking his head. "I thought you'd be safe and out of battle, but I guess you never know".

"I don't regret it! It was good to know what fighting is really like!", she said fervently, the wine making her more expressive than usual.

Morfindir raised an eyebrow. "So, what do you think about it, then?"

"I want to do it. Keep fighting", she said with certainty. "I still need lots of training, but it's good to know that I can actually do it".

"I told you so. I knew you could do it", he said with an encouraging smile.

As he was looking at her, his black eyes seemed to soften with something like fondness. Her ears started buzzing the way they had during the battle, when her blood was rushing too fast through her body. She lowered her head and focused on her half-empty goblet, thinking that no amount of dried blood or dirt would hide her blush now.

"So...", he went on, "what exactly happened? If I recall correctly, Eglerion said you were amazing". Damn it. Her face was burning. If he kept praising her, she would never lift her head.

She downed a few gulps of wine. The drink was strong enough even for Elves and she found her limbs growing heavy in a pleasant, relaxing way. Through the alcohol-induced haziness, she found the strength to lift her head and look him straight in the eye. He was smiling, and he was beautiful.

"We were hiding in the trees", she started off hesitantly. "Me and Eglerion on one tree, Tunir and Arphenion on another".

She drank again; the wine loosened her tongue and made it easier for her to relax and enjoy the moment. Soon she was talking animatedly, recounting their battle with the spiders, Eglerion interrupting every now and then to add a thing or two.

"That sounds impressive, indeed!", Morfindir said after she had finished. "I knew I wasn't wrong about you!"

"Thank you, captain", she smiled, broader than she would if she hadn't drunk that much.

Another song erupted from the company around them. Eglerion started singing drunkenly and Morfindir burst out laughing. Maeloth sat back, listening to them with a small smile fixed on her lips.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt this good. Nor could she remember the last time she had actually laughed, or that her smile wasn't forced. That was what had surprised her the most: how easy it had been for her to laugh and smile and joke during these last hours. As she looked around at the elves that sang and drank, she felt a newfound comfort.

Camaraderie. That was the word she had been looking for. Eglerion had called her a comrade, a sister-in-arms. These words had warmed her chest. And now, as she looked at them, affection blossomed in her heart. They were indeed comrades, and these were her brothers-in-arms. Her brothers.

A thought broke through the haziness of her mind. _Brother. Belegorn_.

She hadn't seen him at all for hours and she had so much to tell him. She bet he would be proud of her once she told him what had happened. Perhaps she would take a cup of this wine upstairs to him.

She smiled as she thought of him. She wanted to see him and share this moment with him, share this small triumph. She bet she could even make him smile now; he, who was always so sad.

She stood up suddenly, almost spilling the wine from her freshly-filled goblet.

"Taking off so soon?", Morfindir asked her.

She blinked to clear her vision. That wine was too strong; perhaps taking a cup for Belegorn wasn't such a good idea after all, since he was even worse at holding his liquor.

"Yes", she replied, rubbing her eyes. Fatigue was catching up, finally. "I've got to go... Haven't seen my brother yet", she murmured.

"Oh, right... Belegorn".

"Yes... And I need some rest. And a bath", she chuckled tiredly, looking at her filthy clothes.

"Then off you go. See you soon, Maeloth". He tilted his head politely.

"Have a good day, captain", she managed to bow without swaying. She looked around for Eglerion and found him asleep with his head on the table. She waved at Tunir and Arphenion and left.

She crossed the half-lit corridors, humming the melody from the last song the others were singing. Outside the windows she could see the sky turning blue. She hadn't realized exactly how tired she was until just now: her limbs were heavy and her back hurt. And it was so satisfying.

The borrowed sword was still dangling over her hip; the bow she had left back at the headquarters. Perhaps she could have her own sword forged soon. And she could have Belegorn help her pick a name. It would be nice, after him being so negative about her fighting.

She yawned deeply and kept humming a merry song until she reached the door of their room. She crept up to it and opened it slowly, just in case Belegorn was resting.

He wasn't. When she opened the door, she saw him.

Their room was north-west, so it was still dark, but she could discern his figure standing in the middle of the room, just a dark silhouette against the ink-blue sky visible through the windows behind him. He was facing the door, still like a statue.

"So you're alive". His voice was rough and low.

Maeloth, who was ready to greet him, froze at the threshold. His voice was far from happy.

"Yes..." she said slowly, uncertainly. "Yes. What-?"

"Good", he added and turned his back to her, going to stand by the window.

Maeloth got in and closed the door behind her. She looked around. The room was way too dark; why hadn't he lit a candle? He had, however, picked her sword up from where she had thrown it and placed it carefully on the table. She noticed that his bed was neatly made, untouched. Had he not rested at all? This was not like him.

Then she saw her own bed: her bed covers all messed up, her pillows out of place. She hadn't left it like this. She didn't have time to lie down before leaving for battle.

She turned to Belegorn again and made to approach him.

"It's almost daytime", he said roughly, stopping her in her tracks. "When you left it was early evening".

She wasn't sure why he was saying this. "Belegorn..."

"Do you have any idea", and now his voice was trembling, "what it was to wait for so many hours, not knowing whether you were alive or dead?"

He turned towards her with a dark look on his face. She could discern his reddened eyes under the deep shadow his brows cast.

A wave of realization hit her and, with it, guilt. She almost took a step back at the ferocity of his gaze.

"So where were you?", he asked her, even though it was clear that he knew. He knew, that was why he was so upset.

She swallowed dryly. "Belegorn..." she began again. She had messed up.

"Taking off without a word?", he asked her incredulously. "Not even a goodbye, just in case you-". His voice drowned in his throat. "I waited for you to come back, after you...", he pointed to the door. Either he was too overwhelmed to finish his sentences, or he couldn't bear to refer to Morfindir. "Until I heard that the army had left. I went out looking for you and I heard". His voice was grazing her heart. "I knew you'd go with them if you had the chance. I just thought you'd tell me first. Come to say goodbye before the battle. I thought... I thought I mattered enough for you to do that". He shook his head.

She took a step towards him, trying desperately to find the right words. "You do". Of course he did matter. "You do, Belegorn".

He jolted back when she tried to touch him and glared at her, his eyes gleaming wildly. "You could have died out there!" he hissed. "You could have died without even saying goodbye! I could have lost you too without-" He sank his fingers in his hair and exhaled sharply.

He was right. He was right and she couldn't bear to see him like that. She had hoped she would never have to see him like this, ever again, and now she was the cause of it.

But the hour before the battle had been such a mess. Running around, worrying about weapons and fighting... She hadn't even thought she might never come back. That wasn't an option, in her head. It hadn't occured to her she might never see him again.

"I'm sorry", she said quietly.

"You're sorry!" he all but sneered.

"-but there wasn't time to come back here! It was an urgent call, and we left almost immediately!" she tried to defend herself.

"So, there wasn't even time to send a message with somebody else?"

She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find any words.

She had messed up badly.

And she was so tired.

"So... You get the chance and you run off to battle just like this. That's how much it took you to forget about me". He looked beyond hurt now. He looked like he was slowly curling in to himself, like some invisible weight was slowly forcing him to double over. "And then you're back for hours, but you don't even come to see me, to tell me you're fine... You just go somewhere else, drinking, by the smell of it, and you forget..."

"I... didn't... forget about you. Not for a second". This wasn't enough. She would have to do better.

His angry façade was slipping now, pain taking over.

"But I made it back!" she said desperately. "I fought well and I made it! I'm back, aren't I? I knew I'd make it back, that's why I didn't say goodbye. Because I knew I wouldn't have to!" she said, and it was no lie.

All of a sudden Belegorn moved towards her, too quick for her drunk and tired body to react. She thought he would hug her, but he just grabbed her face with his hands and leaned over her, his forehead touching hers, his eyes tightly shut.

"Tell me", he whispered tremulously, "tell me that all this blood is not yours".

She considered the sight she must be, all covered up in dried, stinking blood. "No, of course not. I wouldn't be able to stand if it was mine", she chuckled.

"Don't! Don't you... joke about it!" He gritted out the words like they were physical pain.

He was gripping her head so tightly that it hurt. He was breathing heavily, his breath burning her face, his smell overflowing her nostrils.

Her skin tingled in a weird way. She wasn't sure she liked the feeling; she wasn't sure that she didn't like it, either. Perhaps it was still the alcohol playing tricks in her body, but something stirred deep in her belly.

No.  _Focus._ This was not about her.

This was about Belegorn, whom she had hurt without meaning to.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in a hug. He basically collapsed in her embrace, all tension finally leaving his body.

"Don't you ever leave me again like that", he moaned his plea in the crook of her shoulder.

"I won't", she whispered, stroking his hair.


	7. Betwixt

Maeloth woke up at late noon the next day, feeling more rested and refreshed than she had in days. In over a month, actually.

"Good morning, sleepyhead", Belegorn chuckled when she sat up on her bed. He was sitting in his armchair by the window, reading under the dazzling light of golden sun rays.

"Why didn't you wake me up sooner?", Maeloth reprimanded him while rubbing the sleep off her eyes.

"Because it's obvious you needed rest".

"I should be out training hours ago", she noted, looking at the height of the sun. She got off the bed and approached Belegorn's armchair. She leaned on the windowsill and looked outside.

It was the first beautiful day in weeks. Clear, golden sunlight dancing on the tops of the trees and a light breeze carrying the birds' songs to their ears. She took a deep inhale and closed her eyes, letting the warm sun rays bathe her.

"You could take the day off, you know", Belegorn suggested, setting his book aside. She turned to eye him incredulously. "Come on, you deserve it. We could go for a walk", he smiled. He seemed to be in good spirits, despite last night's events. As he leaned towards her, he looked almost cheerful, with a hopeful smile and a lively gleam in his eyes. "We could walk in the gardens, or out in the forest. I haven't been there yet. You could show me around".

Well, he was in high spirits, indeed. He generally disliked leaving the room and he had never before suggested a walk. Maeloth cast another look out of the window. The sunlight was tempting, the breeze pleasantly soft.

Perhaps taking the day off wasn't such a bad idea. And if Belegorn wanted it bad enough to propose going out, then she would grant him this favor. She still felt a bit guilty about upsetting him but, all guilt aside, she really wanted to spend some time with him.

If it made him keep smiling like that, she definitely would. Anything to keep that smile.

"All right", she said.

His smile got wider. "Did you just say 'all right'?", he asked in disbelief.

She couldn't help but smile back. "Yes, sure. Let's go for a walk".

Half an hour later they were walking along the neatly trimmed bushes of the royal gardens. The place was more crowded than usual, as many elves had thought of taking advantage of the beautiful day in the same way. Maeloth came across a few elves she knew and introduced them to Belegorn, but he didn't really want to hang out with any of them. So, most of the time, it was just the two of them. Belegorn himself wasn't very talkative, but he did look happy.

When the sun took to setting, they returned to their room and sat together by the window, Belegorn on his armchair and Maeloth on its arm, right by his side. She listened as he read to her and watched his face and the subtle smile that was still on his lips.

Last night she had made him cry. It had been easy to assume that much, even if he hadn't cried in front of her. She could upset him, yes, but it was good to know that she also had the power to make him this happy and calm. It helped her feel happy and calm in return.

She leaned back and listened to the sound of his voice until, at some point, she felt his fingers on the back of her hand. He started to caress her softly with relaxed, circular motions. Initially she tensed at the contact, a chill running down her spine, but he didn't seem to notice. He kept stroking her lightly and, eventually, her body got used to it and relaxed again. She closed her eyes.

She liked it. The way she was sitting next to him, listening to him, his hand on hers stroking her with such tenderness. It was peace she had not experienced in what felt like forever. After a while Belegorn stopped reading and they just sat there in silence, with his fingers trailing on her hand. Just breathing together. She could almost feel his heartbeat through his fingers. She could smell him all around her. In that moment, he was the only real thing. She felt that, if she opened her eyes, there would be no world. Just him.

She felt the urge to lean closer to him, to hug him. To feel his body against hers. If he was the only thing that really existed, she wanted to hold on him tight, feel him as the only stable reality. The rest of the world could remain a formless void, as long as she could feel him next to her.

Heat was rising up in her body.

"Sister...", he murmured softly. "Are you all right? I can feel your hand trembling".

Damn hands. Never steady. Nor in battle, nor now.

"I'm fine. I just guess you were right about me needing rest". She blurted the lie out easily, hoping there wouldn't be any telltale blushing on her cheeks.

She heard him chuckle. "Of course I was. After all, last night was hard".

"Today was nice, though", she smiled and squeezed his hand, partly to conceal her trembling.

"Yes, it was". He squeezed back her hand momentarily. "Thank you", he whispered, turning towards her. She opened her eyes to find their heads facing each other as they leaned against the long back of the armchair, close enough to feel each other's breath against their skin. His eyes were fixed on hers. Magnetizing.

"Well, don't expect me to skip training tomorrow, too". She tried at a joke to hide the surge of burning affection that was rising inside her.

He laughed - he actually laughed. "I wouldn't expect you to", he said. Then he stood up and the void that was the world took form and dimensions again. She was left alone in the armchair, momentarily lost in confusion, trying to catch a breath she hadn't realized she had lost. "But we should go for walks more often", he added.

"Yes, whatever you want..." she breathed, trying to pull herself together. She looked around at the now dark room, feeling like she was coming back to reality after a long dream.

"You don't mean it. Who knows when I'll manage to pull you away from training again?"

"Well... You could always go for a walk by yourself".

"It's not the same", he shrugged. Then he stretched his slender body and sighed tiredly. "I'd better rest a bit. I didn't rest at all last night".

Small pang of guilt at that. Of course she knew he hadn't rested last night: it had been her fault.

"Yes, of course, rest. Sweet dreams, dear brother", she whispered as he lied down on his bed in the corner. She remained in his armchair among the shadows that deepened, looking at his sleeping form as fondness fought the echoes of confusion within her.

* * *

Next day she left early for training, but she returned to their room so that she could have lunch with Belegorn. They didn't go again for a walk in the next days, mostly because Maeloth didn't want to miss training again, but Belegorn looked better than he had been during the past month. He still disliked leaving the room and, when he did, he refrained from talking to anyone, but at least he didn't look as distant and cold. As for Maeloth, she had finally been breaking through with her training. After the battle she was much more confident and self-assured and it showed. So, by the end of the week, she was pretty proud of herself. Morfindir had come down to the training grounds once or twice to help her and had told her how pleased he was with her.

All it took for this peace to shatter was the panicked yell of a messenger.

Maeloth was sitting with Eglerion at the headquarters after training, relaxing after a long morning of sword practice, when an elf rushed in, shouting.

"Spiders! The spiders are back again! We're under attack!"

"What?"

"Prince Legolas has called the troops to battle! Captain Morfindir ordered to meet him at the southern grounds as soon as possible!"

"Let's go!", Eglerion said as he jumped to his feet.

It only took a few minutes for their unit to assemble. Morfindir was already waiting for them, solemn-faced and fully equipped for battle. He looked composed and his voice was calm, but his eyes spit fire as he explained the situation to them.

The spiders were, indeed, back. They had thought they had managed to nearly wipe them out, but the beasts were back with even greater numbers than before. And they were proceeding fast, reclaiming all the elven outposts one by one. An attack to the capital was imminent, unless they retaliated. The elven army had to move fast.

One hour to get ready. And then off to battle.

This time, the first thing Maeloth did was run to her room to find Belegorn. He listened intently as she spoke, turning whiter and whiter with each word. When she finished talking they remained silent for a while, looking at each other, Belegorn shaking like a leaf.

"Will it... Will it be like last time?", he asked finally, his voice hardly more than a whisper. Maeloth shook her head and watched him turn whiter still.

"I'll be in the heart of battle this time. Morfindir's unit - our unit - has a very specific role in our strategy-"

"But you're not... You still need to... You can't go to battle yet!" he stammered in despair.

"It's my duty. I have to follow the orders. I have to follow my captain in battle". She hesitated for a moment and then added: "I _want_ to follow them to battle".

"But you're not ready yet", he whispered the words this time, terrified.

"I'm better than last time".

"That was barely a week ago!"

"I know, but... Belegorn..." She approached him and placed her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. "I have trained hard. I am better. I can fight, trust me". She gave him what she considered was her most confident smile, but the fear in her brother's eyes did not abate. She reached out and softly brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. She thought that the tender gesture might comfort him, but he only sighed sadly.

"Is there no way I can stop you?" he asked.

Maeloth shook her head. "It's not just about orders. I want to go. I want to fight and protect the Woodland Realm - and you along with it".

"You don't have to go out there in order to protect me. We could just stick together. If we had split up, back then, during the attack at-"

"Yes, I know your view on that", she snapped irritably before he could go on. For Belegorn, sticking together was always the solution. Running away, playing it safe. But this was the one thing she couldn't stand. "You know I can't just stay here and wait for somebody else to fight my battles".

"But of what use will it be if you end up hurt or-"

"Can't we just settle for 'good luck' and a hug? We've been through this so many times before. It's no use arguing about it again. I've made my choice". She didn't want to have this conversation right before the battle. This was not the kind of farewell that she wanted. She hadn't expected an encouraging pep talk, but at least some level of support. She gave him a look, almost pleading him with her eyes to drop the subject and let it go.

She was afraid, too - perhaps as much as he was - but she couldn't stay. For his sake, as well as hers.

Her determination must have showed in her eyes, for Belegorn finally nodded, resigned.

"It's just hard, you know?" he murmured. "The wait, the uncertainty, the fear... Last time, I almost couldn't take it. It's one thing worrying about the darkness that grows in the Forest but, with you out there... It's much worse".

She didn't know what to answer to that. She hated seeing him this hurt. He was experiencing those battles in a very different way from her, and it was hard to imagine the toil it took on him.

She was under the impression he wouldn't give a damn for spiders or enemies if she wasn't so intent on fighting them. She could see that he was totally indifferent to the threats against the realm or the potential attacks. He didn't really care about the growing darkness. She was the only cause of his distress.

And that saddened her, for some reason.

"Trust in me, brother", was the only thing she managed to say.

He nodded like a condemned man accepting his fate and took a step closer to her. He placed his hands on each side of her head, softly cupping the outline of her face. He was somewhat taller than her, so he tilted her head slightly upwards to be able to look her in the eyes.

"At least... Let me look at you before you go", he asked quietly.

He held her and just stared at her face, taking it in, memorizing every feature. She looked back into his face with such a tightening in her chest that she thought her heart might explode from the pressure. His mouth was pressed into a tight line, his jaw clenched from the effort of holding on to whatever strength he had. His brow was furrowed with worry, but his eyes were full of pure, unconditional, overwhelming love.

It seemed like he would never stop looking at her but, in the end, he leaned in - slowly, as if not wanting to disturb even the air - and placed a kiss on her cheek.

She closed her eyes as his lips touched her skin. They were warm, and soft, and more feelings added up to the tightening in her chest. She felt him move and his lips touched her other cheek, so close to the corner of her mouth that she felt her stomach plummet. He let his lips rest on her skin longer this time, his hands slightly tightening the hold on her face.

No, his lips weren't just warm. They felt like fire. Her skin was on fire, but she did not dare move.

His lips parted with her skin, but he did not draw back. He leaned his forehead on her temple, his nose next to hers. His mouth was hovering over hers, mere inches away. She could literally taste his breath.

The back of her neck started tingling, her whole body tense. She felt like a hunted animal, cornered and waiting for the deadly blow, for the move that would make her crumble. The hunter's breath was on her mouth. Burning.

She dared open her eyes. Belegorn was too close - too close - but she could see pain etched clearly on his face. A fight was going on inside him, his features contorted from the effort of holding back something; despair perhaps, or the desire to keep her there with him.

For a moment she wished he wouldn't hold back, whatever it was that he was fighting.

And then he took a step away, his hold on her relaxing until he touched her jaw with just the tips of his fingers, and he said in a thick voice: "Just be careful, all right?"

Once more she felt like coming back to reality all of a sudden. It came back to her: the reason that she was there, the imminent battle, the spiders. She vaguely noticed her hands were trembling again. Her whole body was trembling.

She let out what she realized was a deep breath that she was holding in. "I promise", she said hoarsely, with the voice of someone that still lingers in the edge of a dream.

"And come back safe".

She couldn't promise that. "I'll try".

He attempted to give her a small smile, but it quivered and faded quickly. "Go", he breathed. The word sounded like a fragile thing, so close to breaking.

Go. A simple thing to say, but she felt like she was rooted to the spot. A few minutes ago, leaving seemed so much easier. She tried to remind herself of the battle; and it baffled her that she had to _remind_ herself of such a thing. It baffled her that it was even possible to have it driven out of her mind in a time like that, right before marching out to fight.

She really had to focus.

Deep breaths. Clenched fists to hide the trembling. And two orders to herself: don't think of what just happened, focus on what's to come. She would deal later with all the emotions that swirled in her. After the battle. She had to pull herself together or she wouldn't make it out alive.

She knew, of course, that death was always a possibility. Belegorn's fear wasn't irrational. She might, indeed, walk out of this room never to return again, but she couldn't think like that, lest the fear immobilizes her the way it immobilized him. She liked to think that she would make it. Still, even if she didn't, she didn't want her brother's last image of her to be that of a trembling and distressed damsel cowering on the threshold. He was in such pain already; seeing her so confused and unsure would only hurt him more.

That somehow snapped her awake.

She squared her shoulders and smiled at him with confidence, seemingly sure of herself - of her strength, her fate, her emotions - and said: "Wait up for me".

Before closing the door behind her, she thought he saw his features relax just a bit. Perhaps her put-up confidence had managed to soothe him, after all.

Well, she thought to herself, at least I did one thing right today.

* * *

"Where have you been?", Eglerion exclaimed when he saw her come running to the southern grounds, right next to the arsenal. The rest of their unit was there, everybody putting on armor and inspecting weapons. Eglerion seemed ready, his leather armor on, his sword dangling from his belt and a quiver full of arrows on his back, so he had settled in braiding his golden-brown hair in the way the Greenwood warriors used to. He stared at Maeloth as she approached him and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Are you all right? What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm fine", she lied, panting.

After leaving her room she had started running as fast as she could, borderline panicked. She ran to the southern grounds without a break, as if Morgoth himself was chasing her. Excuses for that were floating in her head: that she didn't want to waste more time, that she was already late, that it was pre-battle nerves. Truth was she was terrified, and not because of the battle. She thought she could outrun this turmoil of feelings and leave it behind - she had to leave it behind - but no matter how fast she ran, it just kept up. No matter how hard she prompted herself to focus, she just couldn't.

"Are you sure you're fine? You don't look like it". Eglerion sounded worried.

"Yes, I'm sure", she kept at it, looking around for her equipment.

He helped her put on her leather armor, eyeing her with a concerned look all the while.

"It's natural to feel like that", he told her quietly as he buckled her shoulder straps.

"What?", she asked with a start. She turned to look at him, alarmed all of a sudden, trying to read on his face how much he had deduced.

"It's natural to be anxious. It's your first big battle", he said.

Oh, that. She sighed, relieved. "Yes... It's scary, isn't it?", she decided to play along. Perhaps focusing on one scary thing would help her forget about the other.

"It will be like last time... But on a larger scale. A much larger scale". He thought a bit on it and then ended up saying: "Oh fine, it will be nothing like last time".

"You are great at encouraging people", Maeloth sneered teasingly.

Eglerion gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah... I guess I'm too worried myself".

"You? Why? You're an accomplished fighter", she said while sheathing her sword and her two long knives.

"Yes, but... Things have been weird lately. And...", he lowered his voice and leaned closer to Maeloth, "there are whispers that the King is very worried, too. He's afraid that something much more sinister is hiding behind these spider attacks".

Maeloth frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I overheard prince Legolas talking to commander Adan yesterday. I didn't mean to, mind you!" Maeloth made an impatient noise and urged him to go on. "They suspect that something settled in the south, right after the attacks at the settlements".

She felt like something bit her deep in the gut. "What?"

"They don't know. I think the prince's scouting party tried to go and take a look, but they couldn't approach the area".

"What area?"

"Do you know the old fortress, close to-?"

Their whispered conversation was cut abruptly when Morfindir walked in and shouted: "Unit! In formation!"

Eglerion made a gesture that suggested they would talk later and hurried to take his place. Maeloth grabbed her bow and got in line, too. She greeted Arphenion and Tunir absent-mindedly as she squeezed past them, her mind buzzing over Eglerion's words.

If what he overheard was true, that meant that the attack on their settlement, all those weeks ago, was part of a larger plan. If something, or someone, wanted southern Greenwood for themselves, getting rid of the Elves of the area was the first reasonable step. The question was who, and why?

Maeloth let out a humorless chuckle, noticing that the feeling in her gut was the bite of cold fury.

One way or another, concentrating on fighting was going to be impossible that day.


	8. Steady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to pose any questions or concerns you might have. I realize that my depiction of the elven psyche may estrange many since we are used to Elves (Tolkien's Elves, that is) being wise and almost perfect beings. However, there is no fun in reading about a perfect hero (unless it is a Mary-Sue parody, which can be really fun). These protagonists are purposefully flawed, because this is exactly what sets in motion this particular story. After all, not all Elves are perfect. There have been problematic Elves even in Tolkien's work (see Eöl for example). But I'd love to hear your thoughts on this!
> 
> On to the story!

Prince Legolas appeared, wrapped in his carved, glinting armor, looking powerful and majestic in his solemnity. Behind him the general followed; and then the royal guard. As all heads turned to the prince, all soldiers bowed curtly. His gaze traveled over the troops and everybody felt as if it pierced them individually. Under this silent communication the air quivered with anticipation.

Maeloth felt his eyes momentarily on her, too. They were like blue flames, burning away all her previous thoughts, leaving only determination. The only important thing at that moment was the battle. Whomever they were actually fighting, whoever was behind this and for whatever reason, it did not make any difference. Either way, the thing to do was one: fight and bring them down.

At general Daeron's command the troops started to move, all soldiers pacing in perfect sync.

They moved swiftly under the trees, heading to the main forest road. Secrecy was not their main goal; they wanted the enemy to know that they were coming at them with full force. No fear, no uncertainty. They were marching to reclaim the land that was rightfully theirs.

Maeloth could feel the readiness of her comrades, their resolve emanating out of them as if in waves.

The air and the forest were alive around them. The trees were alert, watching. Whispering.

"The spiders know we are coming", an elf said from Maeloth's left, putting into words the voiceless warnings of the trees. Maeloth heard them too; every elf did. Every root and branch and leaf was talking to them, warning them, urging them to hurry, encouraging them. It wasn't just the elves: the whole Greenwood wanted the shadow driven out of its veins.

Maeloth gripped her sword tighter, asking wordlessly the trees how much further the enemy was. _Danger_ , was all she felt them say. _Danger_.

"We are close", she whispered. Her comrades nodded in acknowledgement.

"Unit, halt!", captain Morfindir raised his hand.

And, sure enough, there it was: faint and distant, the familiar clicking of claws. She shivered at the sound.

There the army split up. They followed Morfindir west, along with prince Legolas's unit, while general Daeron and the other units proceeded to circle the enemy from the north and east.

As they walked the clicking grew louder.

"Unit, ready!"

Swords glinted in the green half-light.

"Show no mercy to these foul beings!", the prince was saying. His steady voice reached everyone's ears even though he wasn't shouting. "They have but darkness in their hearts and hatred for all that is fair and good. We will drive them out of our land, or they will fall from our swords. There is no alternative, lest we drown in darkness with them". He raised his long, curved sword. "May Elbereth's grace protect you all, and let your arrows fly swiftly and your swords cut deeply".

Everybody raised their swords in unison. Prince Legolas moved to the head of his unit.

Morfindir stood in from of his own men and shouted: "Unit! On my command!"

From somewhere in the trees in front of them the clicking had turned more violent, shrill curses and shrieks accompanying them. General Daeron's and the other units were attacking already. The fight had begun.

Maeloth waited for the command, her heart thumping loudly. Her throat was dry, making it all the more hard to swallow the fear that was growing in her. It didn't surprise her that she was trembling again.

"Charge!" Morfindir bellowed.

She took a deep breath and broke to a run, head-on to the darkness between the trees in front of her. She ran, her heart going to pieces inside her chest and noises growing gradually louder, until her feet stepped on a large clearing.

It was as if she had stepped into a different world all of a sudden. She saw the hideous forms of the giant spiders, jumping and tramping about on their eight long legs. There were too many of them, infesting every tree and branch and patch of earth. On the back she could see the walls of the once-elven outpost: numerous spiders were running down its walls like a black waterfall, a terrifying mass of legs and eyes and claws.

The elves were coming from all sides like a silver-green tide. They clashed with the darkness under deafening sounds. The clover-filler ground was already stained with blood, both black and crimson, a haunting smell beginning to rise from the damp earth.

Maeloth was gripping her sword with both hands, looking around madly as she ran. Swords were clashing with claws all around her. It was almost too overwhelming; for a few moments she panicked, without knowing what to do and where to go, and then she saw a spider charging towards her.

In this moment all became clear at once; even the terror that struck her couldn't dim the clarity of her purpose.

Before setting foot on the field of battle she thought that she would fight for the Woodland realm, for the King; for Belegorn; and in some deep part inside her, where fires were still burning under a night sky, she wanted to fight for revenge. But, in the end, that was just what brought her there. From the moment she stepped on that spider-infested clearing, she was only fighting for her life.

She had worried that she would be unable to concentrate, but there was no room for other thoughts while fighting. The only things that mattered were where to hit or how to slice; how to avoid a poisonous sting, a claw or a sticky thread. How to stay alive.

Every moment death was staring at her with sets of eight eyes. The clicking of claws was like a call from the grave. All she could do was silence that call, wipe out the deathly stares that tried to bring her down. With her sword in hand she fought for her life, ensuring it by eradicating others.

All around her the elves moved like swift flames in a sea of darkness. The noise of battle was so loud in her ears that after a while it blended out in a constant, dull roar. Every now and then a shriek would break through and chill her to her bones, the cry of the dying light of an elf. She didn't have much care for the shrieks of spiders; they were almost constant, after all, as blades and arrows pierced their hairy bodies without stop.

Black carcasses had started piling up and the air stank of their blood, but the writhing darkness didn't seem any less dense. The beasts' numbers seemed infinite. The kept swarming out of the half-destroyed outpost and the trees, their hatred undimmed by other emotions such as compassion or fear.

Ceaselessly she chopped at their numerous legs, drenching her hands in their thick blood. She ran and jumped and ducked to avoid getting hit. It was almost like a dance, in a twisted and mad way.

Trembling by fatigue added up to that of fear. Her arms hurt from the struggle, from the constant swinging of her sword. Her breath started coming out pained, her heart not trained enough for these demands of stamina. She felt lost in an endless, violent frenzy, unable to stop cutting and slicing and dodging lest she joins the piles of the dead on the ground.

The faces of the spiders were hideous as they spat poisonous threads at her; hideous their curses and their blood as it splashed her face. One after another she cut them up, watching her hands move as if they belonged to someone else, not being able to fathom how she could be the one that was doing all this.

She didn't know for how long it went on. Losing track of time was easy. It felt like a century had passed before voices cut through the veil that isolated her from the rest of the swirling, writhing world.

"They are retreating! Do not let them escape!"

These were elf voices. She cast a dazed look around: the darkness was, indeed, thinning. The spiders were leaving. Victory.

She heard a commander calling his unit in pursuit of the retreating beasts. Elves ran everywhere around her.

Her sword slipped from her fingers and fell on the wet grass. She staggered, breathing hard and fast, blurry images swirling in front of her eyes.

Had they won? Was it over? The cries she heard were cries of joy. So, probably yes.

She looked around, trying to make out a familiar face. She ended up letting her gaze fall downwards and she stood staring at the carcasses of spiders and, every now and then, of an elf: pale-faced, glassy eyed and cold. Motionless. Still, they seemed like they kept something of the light they held during their lives. It was even more clear as they lay next to these beasts - and that remarkable difference was comforting, in a way.

She knelt over the body of a spider. She didn't know how many of these beings she had slain. Hundreds lay across the clearing; she noticed her vision was somewhat less hazy as it swept the battlefield. Her breathing was steadily growing more even, her heart slowing down to a more comfortable rhythm – still fast, but not too fast.

Her arms and legs stung from exertion. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and reveled in the sensation. She was alive. She made it out alive; her enemies didn't.

Something of her previous thoughts came back to her. They had fought swarms and swarms of spiders – sent by whom? Whoever it was would know what had happened, sooner or later. She felt a wild satisfaction at that. She opened her eyes to look again at the black, dead mass. Whoever sent them would know. Looking at the numbers of dead spiders she assumed that they had managed a big hit.

She searched around for her sword. She found it two steps further from where she was kneeling, covered with blood just like everything around it. She took it and tried to wipe most of the blood away before sheathing it. She rose to her feet feeling strangely triumphant at the thought that she made it out alive; and that, this time, she had made it all by herself.

"Maeloth! Maeloth!"

Eglerion was trying not to step on any bodies as he hurried towards her. His clothes were bloody, just like everyone else's in Maeloth's line of vision, and his golden-brown hair was disheveled. His cheek had a gash. She felt a pinch of worry bringing her back to reality, dimming the elation of triumph, but fortunately the gash didn't look deep and was bleeding only slightly.

"Are you harmed?" he asked her when he reached her, his eyes scanning her intently.

She shook her head, still a bit dazed, and focused on him. He seemed tired but otherwise unscathed, minus the gash. It pleased her – it even relieved her – to see him all right, even though she hadn't been worrying about him in particular during the battle.

She looked around again. This time she started to recognize familiar faces.

"Are you all right? You look… weird", he said, concerned.

She felt weird. As if she had been cut off from reality for a while and was coming back just now. Or perhaps it was the other way around: the before, the battle, was the real life and now, as her heartbeat slowed down, she was lulled back into an illusion of peace. The thrill of battle was dying away, seeping out of her limbs, taking the all-too-familiar trembling away.

So many different emotions had overlapped each other in a short – as it seemed now – span of time. Expectancy; fear; confidence; pain; dread; joy. Now she stood at the aftermath of this storm and didn't know what she was supposed to feel. She felt wasted, like there was left no feeling at all. Numb. Lost. Uncertain.

"Dizzy", she murmured finally.

She saw Eglerion fumble with something on his belt and then he held out a flask. "This will make you feel better".

She pulled the cork, took a whiff and recognized faintly the potion that Morfindir had given her when he found her staggering though the woods, carrying Belegorn's half-dead body. Her insides squirmed disdainfully at the memory, but she took a sip nonetheless. It did what it had done back then: it cleared her head and gave her a bit of her vitality back.

"Thank you", she said, handing it back to him.

As she stretched out her arm, she felt a sharp pain shoot through her. She looked down to find her green sleeve ripped and drenched in her blood. Just as she noticed a deep cut under the damaged garment, she heard Eglerion's worried voice.

"You are hurt! Why didn't you say so?"

Her arm started throbbing with pain, stinging her sharply when she moved it. "I hadn't noticed", she said truthfully. She lifted her arm to inspect the wound: it was a rough cut, the flesh torn apart unevenly. "Probably done by a spider's claw. I didn't feel it up until now".

"In the heat of battle it is often hard to notice, that is true. But you'd better clean it and patch it up. Here". He lifted the flask with the potion and made to pour some on the wound.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked him, eyeing the thing suspiciously.

"It is very efficient on wounds, don't worry. See?" He showed her the gash on his face, which had already stopped bleeding. "It'll stop any infection and dull the pain a bit".

He poured some carefully on the open wound. She felt as if something soothingly warm spread across her limb and the painful stinging weakened. She couldn't really tell if the flow of blood had lessened, so she tore the rest of her sleeve off and Eglerion helped her tie it tightly around the wound.

"Oh, there's Tunir!" he exclaimed suddenly and gestured to someone far behind Maeloth's back. She turned and saw the tall, dark-haired elf hurrying towards them, his brows furrowed with what seemed like great sorrow.

She felt the bad news coming before he opened his mouth.

"Arphenion", was all he said. They would have assumed the worst, but from the urgency and the edge in his voice they could tell that something had happened but was not – yet – terminal. And that they ought to hurry.

Maeloth had just enough time to see the terrified look on Eglerion's face before they both ran after Tunir.

They headed out of the clearing and into the thick woods. A small group of elves was gathered at some point between the trees, looking down to something in their midst. Nobody was talking.

Eglerion nudged his was through to the center of the small circle and, then, a drawn-out moan escaped his lips and he staggered back. Maeloth followed him, already smelling the powerful, metallic scent of elf blood, her stomach clenched in the worst kind of anticipation. The other elves let her through and she managed to see what lay on the ground.

It was Arphenion, still alive and breathing with sharp gasps, but how he still managed to do so was a miracle. He lay on a blood-soaked patch of earth, his skin stark white against it, horrifyingly similar to a dead man's. His face was a mask of agony, his beauty twisted from the pain.

His lower abdomen was cut open with ferocious brutality and it seemed like a part of his side was entirely missing. Through the deep red mess that was his maimed belly, his intestines hung pathetically, eerily pale in a sea of blood. His armor hadn't managed to withstand the hit and was torn and crumbled like his flesh.

With numb brain Maeloth thought of sharp spider claws; and, sure enough, a huge spider lay dead a few meters further. She could discern the blood that still dripped from its now immobile claws and disgust and hatred rose up inside her. But the beast was dead already; the smell of its own, foul blood was overpowered by Arphenion's. Her gaze returned to the elf that lay before her.

With each breath he trembled all over. His hands lay uselessly at his sides, clenching the earth every now and then, perhaps in search of some meager support. His eyes, wide in horror, were fixed on the roof of leaves and branches above his head. His mouth was open, as if in a silent cry, his lips moving incessantly; whether from the struggle of breathing or from trying to say something, Maeloth couldn't tell.

She felt Eglerion move and saw him approach Arphenion. He knelt down beside him and took one of his bloody, pale hands in both of his own. "I am here, my friend", he told him softly. Tears were running down Eglerion's cheeks, but his voice didn't waver.

She couldn't tell if Arphenion heard him; his gaze remained fixed on the tops of the trees. Eglerion kept talking to him calmly and sweetly, the way one might talk if one wanted to lull somebody to sleep. Maeloth kept staring at Arphenion's contorted face, unable to avert her gaze. He was in such pain. Eglerion's words to him were beautiful, but she couldn't tell if they were of much help. He seemed lost in his torment, already cut out from this world.

She realized she felt such pity for him. Not because he was dying, but for dying in such a way. He was almost gone, his soul almost free to fly to the Halls of Mandos; and yet, his broken body was keeping him tethered to this dimension of pain and suffering.

Somebody said that they ought to help him, do something. But there was nothing they could do now. They couldn't move him and his body was beyond healing. All they could do was wait. But wait for what? Maeloth felt a surge of rage at the situation, at all of them for sitting around and just watching at a slowly dying man.

She heard Morfindir's voice from somewhere around her and then he entered her line of vision as he, too, knelt beside Arphenion. This time they saw a reaction from the wounded elf: his eyes found his commander's face, his lips still moving. Maeloth couldn't shake the feeling that he was trying to say something and, somehow, that made her feel worse. It made her pity stronger and she hated it. She hadn't known Arphenion for long, but she knew that he was a strong and proud warrior. That he shall leave under so many pitying gazes seemed a dishonor.

Morfindir and Eglerion were both talking to him, but their words brought no peace to his face. The smell of blood was overwhelming as it kept flowing out of his wounds. Would they keep talking until his body was drained of all his life force? The rest of the Elves were praying for peace on their comrade's soul, for a swift journey to the Halls of Mandos.

All those tear-streaked faces. That was of no use to that man's pain. And Maeloth had made a vow never to be useless again.

She moved all of a sudden, taking her bow and holding it firmly on her left hand. As she took a step towards Arphenion, she pulled an arrow from her quiver. Morfindir and Eglerion's faces froze as they eyed the bow and arrow in her hands, but they didn't speak. Everybody stared, but nobody protested. Eglerion tightened his hold on Arphenion's hand and turned to speak to him again, fresh tears tracing his cheeks. Morfindir just kept staring at Maeloth and his frown kept her in her place, unmoving and waiting.

Then, the slightest change in her commander's eyes. Some sort of resignation, of accepting an unwanted fate. That was the cue she needed to proceed.

She nocked the arrow and approached Arphenion until her toes almost touched his twitching legs. This once, she didn't want to miss. One shot, clear and quick, and it would be over. She fixed her eyes on Arphenion's face. His lips had stopped moving now; he was staring at the trees again, breathing roughly.

She took a deep inhale, lifting her bow as she did so. She paused momentarily, holding her breath, and then she exhaled slowly, pulling the bow string as her body settled into the drawing position. Her right palm came to settle against her chin, with the arrow feathers between her index and middle finger, the string of the bow touching her lips, shoulder blades locked and strong. Her left arm, the extended one, was relaxed, her hold on the bow soft, almost tender.

Left eye closed, she aimed carefully between Arphenion's brows. As she kept the string drawn, tension started to build in her shoulder blades, but this time, this once, her hands were perfectly steady. Not a hint of trembling. The battle had been a mess, a storm; but now, as she focused on the task before her, she felt only calmness and stability.

She let her right fingers release the string: they just relaxed softly and the tension from the limbs of the bow did the rest. The arrow flew with a faint thud of the string and, faster than the blink of an eye, found its mark.

Maeloth stood, bow hanging loosely from her still extended left arm, the fingers of her right hand hovering somewhere behind her ear, and allowed the breath to return to her body just as Arphenion's last one left his own.


	9. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, more Legolas in this chapter (I had missed that pretty boy). It is a small tribute to how he was portrayed in the movie: a spotless, unreal creature that made us all swoon. I'm sorry, I couldn't help it! :P

The sun was setting.

Elves were moving about the blood-stained clearing, treating their wounded and gathering their dead. Another group had the loathsome task of piling up the dead spiders and preparing the pyres. Some units had moved south, in pursuit of the spiders that fled.

Maeloth just stood, her weight against the trunk of a tree, watching at this peculiar form of purging the forest. She had staggered to this place after they had taken away Arphenion's body and she had stayed there since, watching the others with hazy eyes. She didn't feel like moving. She didn't think she could move if she wanted to, anyway.

Eglerion was the one who had closed Arphenion's eyes after she had shot him. It had been an absurd image: his peaceful, still face, with his eyelids closed, by all means looking like a sleeping man but for the arrow stuck in his temple and the trail of blood that leaked down his forehead.

The contrast between his peaceful expression and his mangled body was surreal. Maeloth had found herself unable to avert her gaze from that curious contradiction. In the end they came to carry away his body, along with the rest, equally contradictory bodies that were scattered here and there.

After that Eglerion approached her, wiping tears off his cheeks. He stood before her and looked at her with reddened eyes.

"The spider poison", he said, and she was surprised to hear his voice still crystal-clear and unwavering "has some very weird properties. The venom they have in their claws is similar to that of their stings". He paused and looked towards the place where the dead bodies were mounded, wrapped in green linen. "It is designed to torment its victims. It grapples at the soul to keep the victim alive for as long as possible, for these creatures don't like to feed on dead things". He sniffed loudly and for the first time a roughness crept into his voice. "I knew that, but I couldn't bring myself to do what you did. What had to be done. You see… I've known him all my life. We walked under these trees together when we were elflings. He was… very dear to all of us. But it is sad and strange that, in the end, this love is what stayed our hands... What made it so hard". He paused to look at her again and gratitude softened his green eyes. "What you did takes great strength. It's never easy, I know that. Thank you… for taking this weight upon you".

He pressed his hand on his heart and bowed his head softly. Then he touched her shoulder lightly, gave her a small, sad smile, and left in a hurry. He didn't seem to have any particular destination, he just wanted to get as far away from the great bloodstain on the ground as possible.

After that she had staggered to that tree, overcome with fatigue all of a sudden. It was not her body as much as her mind that demanded a respite. Something was stirring deep in her gut, something very akin to guilt – and a yet unformed fear. Emotions with which she didn't want to deal at the moment. She just wanted to rest. She wanted to get away from this bloodstain, too; from this world that was full of bloodstains.

She wanted to get back to Belegorn. The memory of him shone like the promise of absolute peace. He would take care of her, she knew it. He would comfort her, even though she couldn't really define why she needed to be comforted. Perhaps for all of this, for everything. That was all she needed now: to be safe, not to think. Next to him she could rest.

Belegorn. Her last anchor.

Funny that she should lean on that man who seemed so weak and frail. She, the fighter, the one who could kill with such steady hands – but no,  _don't think of this now._  Thinking about it stirred her guilt. She just wanted to go back and rest in his arms, and he would take care of everything else.

So she stared at the elves that moved about, trying to keep her mind as blank as possible. She was afraid of what might surface if she rifled in it. She felt a desperate need to get away, even an urgency to do so. So she sighed in relief when general Daeron gathered the troops again to return to the elven capital, back to the Black Mountains.

She took her place in the line, not failing to notice all the empty spots and deliberately avoiding Morfindir's gaze. They hadn't talked since their silent communication, right before she drew the bowstring. She knew they would talk about it, sooner or later, because that's what Morfindir did: he cared for his fighters, he talked to them and, if he could, he eased the pain in their souls. And, most of the times, he could ease their pain; it was a gift of his. But she couldn't talk about it just now. She had already heard out Eglerion, and that had induced enough feelings that she couldn't face.

That is why she winced in some inner agony when a soldier approached her as they marched back home. "Maeloth?" he inquired. "Prince Legolas would like to have a word with you".

She tried to hide her discomfort as she followed him. After all, she couldn't say no to the prince of Greenwood.

The man led her to the very front of their lines, where prince Legolas was marching next to general Daeron. Unlike the rest of the soldiers, prince Legolas was staggeringly clean. No trace of the stinking blood that everybody else was covered with, no sign of sweat, not a hair out of line. He would look as if he hadn't fought at all, if it wasn't for a telltale bruise on his right cheekbone and a small rip at his clothes.

These little injuries somehow made him look even more majestic an awe-inspiring. Sheer beauty among the horror. What kind of skill is needed to walk out of such a battle untouched like this? What level of swiftness and dexterity, to avoid even the droplets of blood that would smear his perfect picture? It made one wonder if the beast that managed to inflict this bruise upon him was equally skillful or just plain lucky. Most probably the second.

When Legolas saw them, he said: "Ah, thank you, Aphadron. Lady Maeloth, thank you for accepting this small invitation". She bowed her head respectfully at this.

The prince seemed troubled. "Let us… walk alone for a bit, if you please", he told her, looking somewhat uncomfortable himself. He broke out of the line and Maeloth followed him to the edge of the path, far enough to hold a private conversation.

Legolas kept walking, skeptical and silent for a while, his gaze fixed absently on the ground before him. Maeloth walked beside him, watching him and trying not to look too anxious. From his expression she gathered that, whatever the matter was, it wouldn't be pleasant.

Finally the prince spoke in a low, sad voice.

"I saw what happened before. What you did, back at the outpost".

So he had seen her give Arphenion the final blow. Maeloth hadn't noticed the prince watching her – then again, she hadn't given much notice to the gathered crowd. So that's what the prince wanted to talk about. It was not much of a surprise, really, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant.

"It was very… brave", he went on.

"Allow me to disagree, my prince", Maeloth said before she could stop herself.

Legolas didn't seem offended by that. On the contrary, he seemed intrigued. "You do not think that it required great courage?"

She tried to ignore the feeling of uneasiness that churned in her stomach. She didn't want to talk about it, but she couldn't keep herself from answering, either.

"I shot an injured man. A man that I knew. There was nothing courageous about that. It was, if anything, the exact opposite". She found she couldn't keep the self-recrimination out of her voice.

"Why?" Legolas asked her.

"I did it because I couldn't see him suffer that way. I couldn't stand it. I-". Her first impulse was to say  _"_ _I did it for me, not for him'_ , but she paused, pondering momentarily if that was, indeed, true. But such a thing would require her to recall the exact moment of the kill. She didn't want to do this when that memory was so hurtfully fresh.

"So you did it out of mercy. You don't think mercy needs courage?"

"No, I-" The idea that it was mercy that led her hand seemed absurd. If she was that noble, why was she feeling such guilt? Something was wrong. She was not who they thought she was. She wasn't noble; she had just killed her kin with a steady hand.

"I can see that it torments you deeply", Legolas said, eyeing her with those bright blue eyes of his. Those eyes were like a patch of sky that lingered still, despite the rapidly falling night. Incredibly soothing to find this piece of clear sky in the dark.

Maeloth didn't answer. It  _was_  tormenting her, but not for the same reason that he thought.

"Listen to me, Maeloth…" The sadness in his voice pried her away from her thoughts. "What happened back there, however unfortunate, was something that needed to be done. The fact that you stepped up and did it both surprised and amazed me. You, of all people: one of our newest soldiers, barely trained to the ways of battle. And yet, despite your inexperience, you displayed such calmness and poise… Even in such a tough situation, you didn't falter, while the rest of us stood immobilized by fear and sadness".

"Now, that's unfair", Maeloth snapped; then, realizing how rude she was being, she added; "…my lord. I'm not braver than you. I am, just as you said, inexperienced. And I barely knew Arphenion but, for the rest of you, he was a good friend. It was just easier for me to do it. And that is not worthy of praise", she said bitterly.

Legolas sighed thoughtfully. "So… Do you think that killing is ever easy? Especially one of your kin… Do you think that it's just a matter of how well you know the one before you? If that is so, it is you who are unfair – and overtly hard on yourself. Taking someone's life is an act that stains one's soul, no matter the circumstances. One finds that one is never the same afterwards. Just as killing is an act that cannot be undone, the harm it does on one's soul is also irreversible. And it never gets easier. It never stops hurting you. No matter how many times you do it, it's always hard". Some deep grief clouded the sky that were his eyes. "In my position as prince of Greenwood and commander of the royal guard, I have been in your place more times than I would wish. In such painful events, it is natural that my men turn to me, and I owe it to them to take this burden upon me. As the prince, it is my duty to take care of my subjects… Even if it means staining my soul in their stead".

Maeloth was deeply moved by the profound sadness of the man before her. He reminded her suddenly of his father, of the conversation she had with him some time ago. Both father and son had the same quality about them, that hidden side that was the source of their strength and their wisdom.

"You are very kind, my prince", she said softly.

"I am not saying these things so that you may flatter me. I just wanted you to know that I understand how you feel. That doubt, even that self-hate… It is natural to feel like this after what happened. It is a heavy burden; and, unfortunately, there is always someone who must carry it".

This reminded Maeloth of Eglerion's previous words.  _'_ _Thank you… for taking this weight upon you'_.

His words were meant to be soothing, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. She wasn't worthy of such words.

"However…", he went on, and now his melancholy had given way to something more serious. "I said before that what you did surprised and amazed me. But it also makes me worry". Her breath caught in her throat. Had he felt the guilt that pulsated in her? "I know that you came to our capital only recently and after a very tragic event. Once more I speak from experience when I say that I know what's it's like to lose members of your family". He then seemed to struggle with the words he wanted to say. "I am worried… of the effects such an act will have on an already grieving soul, such as yours. When I saw you drawing that bow string, I wondered… if, perhaps, that would be too much for you to take. I considered stepping up and doing it myself as was my duty but, before I could, the deed was done. One moment of hesitation – ah, forgive me for this, for it is my fault, indeed".

Maeloth, through her numbness, somehow managed to shake her head. "You didn't make me do it. No one did. I shot that arrow with my own free will".

"Yes, but you shouldn't have to".

She shook her head again. She didn't want any excuses made for herself – was that the self-hate Legolas talked about?

"I guess, what I want to say is… Take care of yourself. Now even more than before. Do not dwell too much on the ugly side of what you did today. Do not let yourself drown in despair, in self-reprimanding. Try and see the goodness in it: the mercy that guided you, the fact that you could not bear to see someone suffer. Do not hate yourself for feeling empathy. Even the fact that you are so tormented by what happened, that you regret doing it, that you worry if you did the right thing, that you wish none of it had happened… These feelings are proof that there is goodness in you, despite what you might think now. Being hard on yourself for it won't help you. Instead, find a way to heal your soul. Find your own source of light. One cannot live on grief alone, despite how poetic that might seem to some. Nor on rage and hate, lest one turns into such as the beasts we just fought... Take care of yourself, Maeloth. And, if you ever need me, I will find some time for you. Do not hesitate to ask me".

They had reached the foot of the Black Mountains. The lights of the elven capital glinted in the darkness overhead, against the slopes of the mountain.

Prince Legolas bid farewell to Maeloth, with something like an encouraging smile flickering on his lips, and he left to make the climb to the gates at the side of his trusted guard.

Maeloth stood perfectly still where he left her, gazing at the prince's back as he walked away, even more guilt-ridden than before. Some sort of panic sent hot courses of blood through her body.

He was wrong. She was tormented, yes, but not wondering whether what she did was right of wrong. No, she didn't regret doing it and it hadn't even crossed her mind to wish it hadn't happened.

That's where he was so wrong. She hadn't doubted that somebody had to put an end to Arphenion's suffering. What terrified her was that she stepped up willfully to do it. That she nocked that arrow without a hint of trembling. That, when the time of the killing came, she wasn't thinking about Arphenion. She wasn't thinking of anything at all. She wasn't feeling anything at all.

And it terrified her that she could do it again with the same easiness, if need be.

Calmness and poise, as Legolas said, yes. Impassiveness. Coldness.

She stood horror-struck, with eyes wide and gazing to nothing in particular, until the swarm of soldiers swept her up the path to the gates of the capital.

* * *

She crossed the corridors of the palace alone and in utter silence, as if drifting in a dream-like state – or perhaps, a nightmarish one; she couldn't really tell. She had found herself battling with her head like this one more time in the past. Just like then, she tried to push memories and thoughts away as they persisted in swarming back. And, just like then, when she had used Belegorn's face as her anchor, her feet brought her subconsciously in front of the door of their room.

She looked blankly at the closed door for several moments before she realized where she was. She raised a heavy arm and knocked once – or rather, she let her hand drop on the carved wood.

She heard hurried shuffling from inside the room and then the door opened, revealing Belegorn's anguished face. When he saw her on the threshold, relief washed over his features. He let out an audible sigh and allowed himself to stand still for a moment before he lunged forward and hugged her tightly.

Her breath was knocked out of her lungs from the ferocity of his gesture. He gripped her tightly, like he wanted to enclose her entirely with his body; one arm around her back and the other pressing her head to the crook of his neck in an almost protective manner.

"Maeloth", he whispered breathlessly. "Thank Elbereth and all the Ainur, you're back".

He held on to her, not caring about the blood and its obvious stench. Maeloth didn't object; but she did not hug him back either. She just stared forward, over his shoulder, trying to register the feeling of something so solid and warm against her body.

His own scent flooded her nostrils, driving away the smell of blood. Her first reaction was to inhale deeply the aroma of his skin, just to give herself a bit of this reality to cling on to and to let the memory of the battle fade away. This was the scent of a different world. One of light, and of calmness; of Belegorn reading in his chair by the window; of Belegorn smiling one of his rare smiles. No battle. No spiders. No bloodstains.

"Hey… Is everything all right?", he asked her as he caressed her hair soothingly. She realized she had buried her face to his neck, her nose and lips against his skin. She was gripping at his clothes tightly, her hands curled into fists, the fabric of his tunic trapped inside them.

When she didn't answer, he freed himself from her grasp and took a step back to inspect her, his palms still on her shoulders. His brows furrowed with worry as he took in her form. Finally his eyes came to rest on her unblinking eyes.

"Are you hurt?" he inquired with a sudden urgency.

She looked back into his brown eyes and the warmth in them melted away the stiffness of her body. She shook her head, just because she couldn't bear to see him this anxious.

He sighed again and pulled her in the room, closing the door behind him. He had lit the candles and a fire was crackling in the fireplace, making the room pleasantly light and warm. He led her to a chair by the fire and made her sit down, never once taking his hands off her shoulders. He crouched in front of her to bring himself at eye level and inspected her face, his forehead creased and his mouth tight.

"What is wrong? What happened?" he asked in a low voice, as if he didn't want to startle her.

She looked at his features, beautifully illuminated from the fire. She pleaded inside her not to ask her these questions. Not him. She didn't want to associate him with stories from another world, didn't want to make him a part of this. She was the one covered in blood, he was the clean one; and it ought to remain that way.

Yet some part of her longed for his comfort, so she heard herself whisper, almost despite her will.

"I killed him".

"Who?"

"Arphenion. He was injured. And I killed him".

Belegorn stayed silent for a while, not knowing what to say, and she hated herself for bringing the ghost of the battle in this room.

"How badly injured?" he asked her after a while.

"Very badly. A spider… cut him open". She shuddered at the memory of the living entrails slithering out of the gash in his belly.

"So… He was dying?"

"Yes", she replied faintly.

Belegorn looked at her with the most curious look on his face. For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire as he stared at her, his whole face a frown. She waited for him to speak, without really knowing what she wanted to hear. Certainly not the same things prince Legolas had told her. Not about courage and mercy, or about burdens that had to be carried. _Please_ , none of that.

Besides his obvious concern, Belegorn's expression was unreadable. Something was going on behind his features, but Maeloth couldn't tell exactly what. So she waited for Belegorn's reaction, for his own words of comfort.

Such words never came. He did not speak. He merely lifted a hand and stroked at her dirty cheek, slowly, with the softness of a summer breeze. The turmoil seemed to fade away from his face, leaving behind only a look of pure affection. Maeloth couldn't understand how he could look at her with such tenderness when the only thing she felt for herself was disgust. No, not just disgust; fear, too. She was frightening herself.

But she was not frightening Belegorn, as it seemed. Affection, unconditionally, no matter what: that's all his eyes conveyed. For him, it was enough that she was safe and back to him.

"You look hideous", he said finally with a small teasing smile, still stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. "The smell of this blood is truly unbearable. Let's get you cleaned up. I'll warm some water".

With this he stood up and left her side. Maeloth heard him open the door to the small lavatory and mess around with the water pots and the basins.

She stayed where he left her, unable to move. She watched the flames, listening to the noise Belegorn was making, and felt her body relax slightly. She felt oddly relieved at the fact that he had said nothing. No comments, no advice, not even an opinion, just like everybody else. Silent acceptance. Understanding, even.

She should have expected that. It was, after all, what she wanted from the very start: not to talk about it, just to lie down, rest and forget. And Belegorn wasn't one to disappoint her, that's why he was the first person she sought out. She knew that if somebody could understand what she needed, it was him.

He returned and put a pot with water over the fire. Then he turned to Maeloth and extended his hand.

She looked at him, at the deep calmness of his eyes. It was as if the prospect of serenity and oblivion was being offered to her and all she had to do was give herself up.

Give it all up entirely. Just what she had hoped for. Just what she needed.

She gave him her hand.


	10. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever to write because of health issues (tendinitis in my right hand, a writer's worst nightmare!) The good news is my hand is ok now and the next chapter is already half-written, so the next update won't take so long.
> 
> Grab a glass of wine or something and sit back; this chapter is like a slow, low-heated trance.

Belegorn's hand closed around hers and he hoisted her up with his lips slightly curved in an encouraging smile.

He brought his body closer to her and resumed the caressing of her cheekbone. "Don't worry about it anymore", he murmured.

His voice was too low, as if he didn't want to be heard by the air around them. His words were meant for her alone, meant to create a small, intimate world just for the two of them. His gaze was a mixture of affection, concern and determination. Protective - that's what it was. He was telling her with his eyes that he wouldn't let anything pass beyond the walls of their little world.

His thumb kept stroking her cheek. She could feel his breath on his skin again, stirring a memory in her.

They had stood like this just a few hours ago, before she left for battle. He had stood close to her and kissed her farewell. She had felt his breath on her, just like this.

It seemed like it was ages ago but, earlier in the day, those gestures of his were enough to make her forget about everything else. She could remember the sensations that had awoken in her body: overwhelming tightening in her chest, a thrill deep in her belly, heat rising in her. And then oblivion. The imminent battle, her fear for whatever she was going to face - all had faded away under his gaze.

It had been the perfect distraction.

Now she was standing this close to him again but none of those feelings were there. Her body was numb. He was close, but that in itself wasn't enough to tear her mind away from the battlefield.

However, he had managed to do it once already. Perhaps she had to give him a chance. If she just followed his lead, maybe she could trigger those feelings again... And then use them to her advantage. Use them to forget.

That sounded like a plan.

She sighed and let her head drop on Belegorn's shoulder; his fingers slipped into her hair as she did so. "I just want to rest", she whispered desperately.

"I know", he said, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

She let herself relax against him, digging her nose in the folds of his clothes to block out the smell of the blood. She tried to focus on the comforting feeling of his fingers brushing through her hair. Every muscle in her body throbbed in pain but this contact was relieving, for some reason. She stayed there, just breathing into Belegorn's shoulder and feeling his fingers travel through her hair.

His gesture had a wondrously lulling effect. Slowly her body grew heavy. In the end, she had to wrap her arms around him to keep it from falling down in exhaustion, causing Belegorn to tilt under her sudden weight.

"Come now", he said softly and tried to untangle himself from her. "Let's get you cleaned up so you can rest". He pushed her again to her feet and gave her a gentle nudge towards the door of the lavatory, adding: "Go on, I've prepared everything for you. I'll be there in a minute".

She didn't want to leave his side; but she didn't want to bear the burden of making decisions anymore, either. Not even for something as small as this.

 _Just follow his lead_ , her mind whispered to her.

She swayed to the little room in a jaded trance. She barely saw the lighted candles, the folded towels, the scented soap next to a basin with water. She went straight to the mirror, drawn to it even though she knew the sight would frighten her.

She looked like a wild beast trapped in this little, spotless room, completely out of place. A pair of gleaming brown eyes looked back at her through a dirty mess of a face, covered in dried, black blood down to the roots of her hair. It was hard to believe that it was her in that reflection. She looked positively savage.

She splashed some water on her face and started rubbing at her skin violently until the last stubborn flakes of blood washed away. She looked back at her now dripping reflection. She almost looked like herself now. Almost.

She took off her quiver and the belt with her sheathed sword and put them aside, to be cleaned later. She had started fumbling with the straps of her armor when Belegorn's figure appeared on the little threshold. He glided behind her like a warm shadow and placed soft hands on her shoulders.

"Here, let me", he whispered quietly so as not to startle her. Then he started unbuckling her armor with quick and decisive fingers. She couldn't help but sigh in relief and let her arms fall heavily as she gave in to his care.

When he took the thing off her she stretched her arms and inhaled deeply, allowing her previously constricted body to expand and relax. The joints of her spine popped as they readjusted themselves and her muscles went numb in satisfaction. Her eyes closed as she lost herself in that content haze, letting her fatigue wash over her.

A shooting pain through her right arm snapped her back to reality: Belegorn had grabbed her injured arm and lifted it to inspect it.

She had completely forgotten about her wound; Eglerion's ministrations had dulled the pain enough for her to ignore it through everything that had followed. Judging by the look on Belegorn's face, he was not happy that she hadn't mentioned it earlier.

He frowned at her ripped sleeve and the make-shift bandage before lifting his gaze to eye her crossly through the mirror. "You said you weren't hurt!"

"It's nothing", she murmured hastily.

"Let me judge that", he snapped and set to untie her bandage.

He frowned even more when he exposed the gash, even though it didn't really look that bad. He reached for a little bottle and poured a deep-colored liquid on a clean cloth. He proceeded to dab it on the wound, causing a sting that made Maeloth's eyes water.

"I know, I know", he murmured when she hissed in pain. He took a piece of clean linen bandage and started wrapping it around the injury. After a while the stinging abated, leaving behind a pleasant numbness that made her arm feel heavy and almost lifeless. She watched him through the mirror in silence as he wrapped the gash with the bandage, his lips pursed tightly in an obvious struggle to hold back plenty of judgmental remarks.

Oddly enough, his concern was soothing her. It was comforting to know that someone cared like this for her.

Her lips curved at the sight of his furrowed brows. "You worry too much, brother", she said lovingly. He just grunted and tied the edges of the bandage into a knot. He still looked quite irritated but, when he lowered her limb, his movements were gentle and careful. She smiled at his annoyance and closed her eyes, letting herself sink for a bit into the blissful numbness of her right arm.

She felt the slight tugging of fabric around her body.

Her eyes snapped open in alarm, any sense of fatigue gone all of a sudden; they darted to the mirror to find Belegorn undoing the lacing of her tunic.

Her heart gave such a loud thump her chest hurt with the force of it. She froze and, at the same time, color flushed her face.

He had never done anything of the sort before. They had been sharing a room for a while now, but he always respected her privacy. Every time she undressed he looked the other way discreetly - sometimes he even left the room for a few minutes. And there he was now, pulling loose lace after lace with the most casual look on his face, as if this was something ordinary. He hadn't even bothered to ask or wait for her permission.

She was torn between panic and thrill. She had decided to follow his lead without objection but this was uncharted territory, some sort of line they had never crossed. The idea of letting him get though with this seemed overbold. Something in her was shouting at her to stop him, but she didn't. She couldn't bring herself to.

Her pulse had sped up and she could feel blood flood places which had been dormant. She noted that with a wild satisfaction – a sense of triumph, even. That was the sensation she had craved for. That was what had distracted her so efficiently in the afternoon.

He kept unlacing her tunic, seemingly paying no attention to the change in her breathing. Her heart was beating so fast that it made her feel light-headed - and it felt so good. It was as if she thrown in battle again all of a sudden, but without the fear and the danger. Just the excitement; blood rushing and adrenaline awaking her instincts. She closed her eyes and gave in to that feeling, letting it draw her mind deep into the heat that had started pooling in her belly.

When he pulled the last of the laces loose she lifted her arms and let him take the filthy tunic off of her, relieving her from most of the stench of the spider blood. The fabric flapped as he threw it across the room and she stood with nothing but her undershirt covering her torso.

Then Belegorn's fingers crept under the hem, ready to take it off, too. He paused there, waiting for her permission to bring down this last barrier.

She didn't even have to think about it. She lifted her hands and let him do it.

The fabric slipped off of her and was sent to crumble over the dirty tunic in the corner. She stood there naked from the waist up, strongly aware that this was the first time she was exposing her body like this to him. She dared to glance to the mirror, curious – and somewhat anxious - to see his reaction, but there was no remarkable one from him. His face was blank. No feeling showed on his face, not even when his hands moved to the belt of Maeloth's pants and started unbuckling it.

She held her breath, feeling as if her heart might explode. The tops of his thumbs stroked her thighs as he lowered her pants, sending a shudder through her. She heard herself inhale sharply, but Belegorn didn't seem to notice. His gaze was fixed at the fabric that was gathering between his hands without straying anywhere else. After he took her pants and boots off, he turned his back to her without even glancing at her naked body. He took the filthy tunic and shirt from the corner where they lay and made to leave the little room. He paused at the threshold only to say: "I'll bring the warm water for you", and then he left, taking the filthy clothes with him.

She let out a long sigh, trying to calm the mad beating of her heart. Her legs felt weak but excitement was holding her upright. The plan was certainly working and they weren't even done yet. She was curious to see how many lines they would cross that night - or, more accurately, how far off the line Belegorn would dare to tread. She wasn't intending to stop him, no matter what. She would follow his lead to the end.

She had the feeling that she was playing with with fire and she loved the sheer thrill of it. She loved it in an almost desperate way. She loved it because she knew it was all that stood between the shadows and her.

An unpleasant feeling prodded her. A feeling she had gotten to know all that well that night: guilt.

It was guilt patting her again on the shoulder, telling her that she should feel ashamed for taking advantage of his care like this. He was doing his best to help her out of genuine affection and she felt like nudging him further just for the sake of distracting herself. It was like repaying his concern with selfishness. It made her feel repulsed at herself. She wasn't worthy of his care, just as she hadn't been worthy of everyone's thanks and kind words. But he wasn't just everyone; he was Belegorn. And if her selfishness ended up hurting him in any way, she wouldn't forgive herself. She had to put an end to it before it came to that.

Still, when he finally came back, carrying the steaming pot of water, she sighed in relief and gave him a small smile. Laying her eyes on him was enough to tempt her into not saying anything. She pushed away her thoughts. She had decided to follow his lead and she didn't want to dwell on it. She didn't want to think anymore - that was the whole point from the beginning. She couldn't it stop it now.

Selfish or not, she didn't have the strength to do otherwise.

He filled the bathtub with water and checked the temperature with his hand before saying: "All right. Hop in".

Belegorn didn't look at her as she climbed in the tub and immersed herself in the warm water; he was merely looking around for a sponge and soap. He turned to her only when she extended her right arm, waiting for him to pass her the sponge. He eyed her, lifting an eyebrow in a condescending way.

"You are injured", he said simply. "Keep the bandaged arm out of the water. I'll do the rest".

Her heart skipped a beat but she watched herself lowering her arm obediently. Guilt was choked by thrill, anticipation and despair: despair at her impotence to stop this or deal with anything at this point. She sat on the bottom of the tub and waited, unable to react in any way.

Belegorn knelt beside the bathtub. Then he dipped the sponge in the warm water, wringed it out and started rubbing at her back. He didn't even hesitate this time, even though this was much more intimate that stripping her. He rubbed at her skin, surprising her with his confidence and his daring as he reached out to clean different spots of her body. He ended up causing the rest of her feelings fade away and leave only a kind of puzzled excitement behind. She shot a glance at his face; there was nothing there but duty-like rigidity.

It seemed funny that he was so calm and collected when she was experiencing this mess of feelings.

And that's when it dawned on her. He was simply doing what he had set out to do from the very beginning. It was true that she hadn't stopped him, but she hadn't pushed him into anything, either. Her turmoil of feelings hadn't mattered; that  _'plan'_  of hers hadn't really affected a thing. She thought she had control in this but, as he kept rubbing soap on her shoulders, she realized that he was the one making all the decisions from the beginning. He had done nothing against his will.

Looking at the things this way, it was hard to keep feeling guilt. She hadn't done anything. She had just followed his lead.

She sighed and closed her eyes. There was no reason to be this tense, then. No reason to blame herself for enjoying this; and these was no one there to judge her.

The truth was all of this felt too good. The soft massage on her pained muscles and the warm water were too pleasant. The sound of Belegorn's calm and steady breath was making her relax all over again as his hands worked over her body. She moved her arms a bit to allow him to clean her torso and focused on the sensation of his hands working over her body.

She felt the sponge brush the sensitive skin of her breasts and inhaled sharply as an involuntary shudder run through her. For the first time since he had started washing her, Belegorn's hands froze.

He stood completely still for a few long moments. "Did I hurt you?" he asked then, his voice low. Too low, even. Too deep.

Maeloth shook her head, but she noticed the buzzing that was getting loud in her ears. She wondered if his blood was rushing, too. If he felt his body tense all over. If he did, he didn't show it. His face was impassive; he looked almost detached.

He resumed his washing her as if nothing had disrupted him, rubbing her skin as softly as he could. Just as she wondered whether he would give the sponge over to her, his hands traveled lower, towards the place where the heat of her whole body had gathered. The buzzing turned so loud she thought her head might explode. She tried hard to control her breath, fearing that if she reacted the way she did before he might stop altogether. She had to struggle to keep her apparent calm. For a few moments she didn't know whether the water was warm or cold; or if her injury hurt; or if she had ever been tired at all.

Then his hands slipped over her legs and she felt breath return to her body. She realized she was shivering violently, causing the dirty water to ripple. That reaction was completely beyond her control but, thankfully, Belegorn simply asked: "Are you cold?"

Cold seemed like an acceptable answer, so she whispered: "A little bit".

He nodded slowly and said: "We're almost done here, don't worry. You'll be in your warm bed soon". His tone was sweet and caring, but his face was blank in an unsettling way.

He set the sponge aside and rose to fetch her a clean towel. He held it out for her and waited with his hands open.

She climbed out of the tub and walked into his hands, but not out of want to dry herself up. She just glued her body to him and let herself melt against him, with her wet head coming to rest on his shoulder. Belegorn waited for a while to see if she would back away and wrap herself in the towel. When he saw that she had no such intention, he just closed her in a hug, wrapping her with the towel as he did so. She felt the movement of his chest as he sighed deeply. That little movement of his body sent a different kind of warmth through her; one that settled right in the middle of her chest.

A different kind of feeling: this one carried peace. Not the thrill-induced distraction of before, but a purer, deeper kind of peace, brought just by feeling him breathe against her, his body living and warm and holding her. And, just like this, she knew that it was worth it.

It was worth it, going through the pain and the guilt and the self-doubting just to protect this. To keep this body safe and alive beside her. To keep this man breathing.

This weird warmth made her throat feel like something was stuck right in the center of it. Something that felt like pain. It was choking her, but she didn't want to let out, even if she felt safe enough to do so. She pressed herself against him, trying to hug him through the towel he had wrapped tightly around her. She managed to free her arms enough to close them around his waist and pull him towards her. She clung on to him as if desperate to hold him there.

She felt a hand on the back of her head and his lips on the side of his temple. His hug tightened around her, too. "Are you cold?" he asked once more. Was she still trembling, then? She didn't answer. It seemed crazy that she would fuss over things such as cold at the moment.

"Don't worry, I've got you", he whispered then, and suddenly all of the impassiveness melted out of his voice. It was soft now, softer than she had ever heard it, and tinted with that same feeling she felt stuck in her throat. "Don't worry. I'll keep you safe". The tone of his voice almost made her legs give in with sudden weakness.

His words were absurd. She was the one that was supposed to keep them safe, not him. She was the one who had to fight. And yet the resolution in his voice left her no doubt that he would fight for her, too, if he had to. That he could do it. That nothing could stop him. That she could stop running for a while and take a few safe breaths next to that rising and falling chest. In those hands.

He was already doing it: protecting her. He was holding back the world for her. He was already fighting.

She heard her breath come out gruff and quivering as she buried her face in his neck. She wanted to thank him, but she ended up tightening her grip so much that her fingers went numb. He was caressing her hair. "I've got you", he repeated in a whisper.

She nodded lightly, just enough for him to feel the movement of her head. She couldn't find words for anything. Didn't know if there was anything to be said, really.

She drew back when she felt that she couldn't breathe any more. He took this as the sign to wrap the towel properly around her and take her out of the lavatory to the main room. The fire was still going on - the only source of light in the still chamber. He helped her wipe herself dry and brought her a clean nightshirt to wear. When she climbed into her bed and made to lie down, she saw him head to his armchair by the window.

"Won't you stay with me?" she asked before she could help it. Somehow she had took it for granted that he would stay by her side through the course of this night.

He paused and turned to her. A first he seemed taken by surprise but then he smiled sweetly and said: "Of course I will". He approached her bed, still trying to keep his face calm but failing hold back that small, sweet smile from his lips.

Something of the tension in her stomach returned when she saw him take off his own tunic and shirt. She did not bother to avert her gaze from his torso as he had done with her previously. She gazed at it shamelessly, realizing that she had never seen his body naked before, either.

Well, it was only fitting that that wall would crumble for both of them that night.

He climbed in next to her in nothing but his pants and arranged himself in such a way that he could hold her. She laid her head on his chest, right on that rising and falling spot. He was thin but there was no doubting of the strength of his arms as they pulled her closer to him. The scent of his skin encircled her and she took a few deep, blissful inhales. She laid her palm on his chest, mesmerized by the proximity of his beating, living heart and wondering how she could have ever cared of anything else in the world when  _this_  existed.

It was worth it. All of it, all that had passed and all that would come; it was certainly worth it.

She closed her eyes and drifted off, lulled by the slow movement of his chest and the feeling of his fingers through her hair.


	11. A way out

"Maeloth!"

She flung her eyes open to find Belegorn nudging her and calling her name, his tone not urgent but – surprisingly - annoyed.

She blinked at the strong sunlight that filled the room and looked around apprehensively. She deduced it must have been some time around noon; she had definitely overslept. "What's wrong?", she mumbled groggily as she sat up.

Belegorn stopped nudging her but, absurdly enough, he did not seem pleased with her waking up, either. He huffed loudly and said: "There's someone asking for you".

"What? Who?", she asked, rubbing her eyes as she tried to give him a proper look.

Belegorn look nothing like he had been the previous night. All calmness and sweetness was gone from his face; now he had the expression of a man who was forced to swallow something disgusting. "Morfindir", he gritted out, finally.

In hearing her captain's name, Maeloth snapped awake at once. She threw the covers off her and sprang up, asking all the while: "What? Where is he? Has he been waiting for long?"

Belegorn didn't answer immediately, so she just ran around looking for clothes. "He's waiting outside", he said after a while and then huffed again. "He told me to wake you. Said it's urgent".

"Urgent?", she repeated, alarmed, as she tried frantically to tie the lacing of a tunic. She turned to Belegorn and saw him standing quite still next to her bed. His lips were pressed in a tight line and his brows were furrowed, making his eyes drown in shadows. She knew that look, but she couldn't tell why he was so irritated.

"Can you help me out a bit?", she pleaded, fumbling desperately with the laces.

He didn't move, he just stared at her coldly. "I can tell him to wait. Or go", he suggested slowly.

"No! No, just…" She let out an exasperated grunt and left her lacing half-done.

She ran towards the door of their room. Mid-way she changed her mind, turned around and ran to the mirror to check her reflection. She winced in seeing her hair, but ultimately decided that she didn't look too bad. She ran back to the door, trying to brush a few locks with her fingers; an annoyed snort came from somewhere behind her.

She turned the doorknob and came eye to eye with Morfindir: velvety black gaze, white skin, long black hair loose and reaching almost to his waist."Good morning, captain", she breathed.

Morfindir gave her a small smile when he saw her. For a second he took in her disheveled image and then he said: "Good morning, Maeloth. I am sorry to wake you up".

"It doesn't matter. Is there something wrong? "

The smile faded from his lips and her heart sunk. In her excitement she had forgotten that he was bound to come and talk to her about the battle of the previous day; the solemn look that appeared on his face reminded her that.

Sure enough, he said: "I need to speak to you. May I come in, please? It's rather important". For all his politeness there was the edge of an order in his voice. "If your brother is fine with it, too, of course", he added hastily.

'Um…", she hesitated, feeling an uncomfortable clench at her stomach at what was about to follow.

She looked back over her shoulder to the inside of the room. Belegorn had moved from his previous spot: he was now sitting with his back against the window frame, arms crossed and looking intently at some spot above the fireplace. She tried to ignore this. She did not know what was wrong with him, but she would deal with it later. She checked around with her gaze: her bed was undone and a few clothes were scattered around but, overall, the room was presentable. "Sure, come in", she said half-heartedly, moving to the side to let Morfindir in. "You will have to excuse me for the mess", she added apologetically.

"Don't think about it", he said kindly as Maeloth closed the door behind him. He walked in the room and bowed his head to Belegorn. "Hello, once more, Belegorn", he greeted him, his tone somewhat cautious. Belegorn, quite rudely, did not greet him back; he just glanced at him and looked away immediately.

Maeloth glared at her brother but he missed her look, as he had fixed his eyes to the wall again.

"Please sit, captain", she said to Morfindir, offering him a chair and trying her best to hide her discomfort. "Would you like something to drink? We don't have much to offer, but-"

"No, thank you, I am fine". He smiled in a way that made her heart flutter despite her anxiousness. "Join me, please", he said, indicating an empty chair.

She sat at the other side of the small round table, opposite him. She faced him, hoping that the look on her face would look more like polite curiosity than anticipation of a painful blow.

Morfindir sighed tiredly and started off by saying: "I am sorry to disrupt your rest, but I couldn't wait for you to come to training. I wanted to speak to you in private". He paused and glanced over to Belegorn, indicating that his presence there contradicted his wish for privacy. However, he said: "If your esteemed brother wishes to stay, he is, of course, welcome to. I feel that he will want to have a say in what I'm about to propose".

"Propose?", Maeloth repeated questioningly.

Morfindir paid no heed to her because at that moment Belegorn shuffled pointedly. He turned to glare at the captain and hissed: "Of course I'll stay".

Maeloth turned to her brother, ready to snap at him for his rudeness, but she froze when she saw the look of hatred on his face. She couldn't understand why he was looking at Morfindir like this. As far as she new, they had never exchanged more than two words. Such hostility was uncalled for; if anything, Belegorn should be grateful, since Morfindir was the one that rescued them when they were wandering in the forest.

Morfindir didn't cower under his gaze, but he contemplated him in silence for a few moments before turning to Maeloth again.

"I want to talk to you about yesterday", he said, bringing her attention back to him.

He wanted to dive in the battle's events, just as she expected. She didn't feel ready to talk about it yet, but she felt much calmer than yesterday. Belegorn might be embarrassing her now, but he and his care had worked miracles for her last night.

She swallowed and braced herself for a few uncomfortable minutes, hoping that Morfindir wouldn't carry on about Arphenion for long. She looked him in the eyes in an effort to appear braver and more ready than she felt.

She expected to find a look of pity or sadness on his face, as in prince Legolas's, but he was looking at her with a cross frown.

"I perceived that you didn't want to talk to me yesterday - which is understandable, of course", he said. "I respected your need for rest and calmness and I let you go. However, I am afraid that I can't let this matter go unreferred for long". He sighed and eyed her with an austerity she hadn't seen before in his face. "What you did was hard – there is no denying that. There are not many that would do it, especially in their first battle. But you've probably heard that already. I know that the prince sought you out afterwards and I can imagine what he told you, more or less. He expressed his surprise and his awe to me, too".

He made a small pause and lowered his gaze to his hands, thinking over his next words. When he lifted his head again, his eyes pierced her like black arrows. "As your commander, I think I have the right to speak to you openly. You will not hear from me words about courage, or duty, or strength of spirit. You won't hear me saying that I am proud, because I am not".

The severity of his tone took her by surprise. She was used to Morfindir always comforting and encouraging her but, this time, his look left no doubt of his displeasure.

Guilt, again; all her uncertainty and self-doubt came rushing back. She shuffled anxiously in her seat. Could it be that he had seen past what everybody else was seeing? Was he here to expose her for what she was?

"I am not proud", he went on, "I am only deeply worried. What I saw yesterday was not a display of courage. What I saw was repressed anger and hatred. Not hatred towards Arphenion, don't get me wrong - but there's no hiding the anger that burns in your soul. Seeing the shadow of it in your eyes yesterday made my blood freeze".

Cold sweat broke out in her palms. She could feel the blood leaving her face, even though her heart was beating frantically. Her fear mounted; and it seemed absurd that she could be this afraid of mere words.

"Wh-What do you mean?", she stammered.

"Maeloth-?", Belegorn started, concerned, but she raised a hand to silence him.

"I mean", Morfindir went on, showing that he didn't want to be disrupted, either, "that what has happened to you has left you deeply hurt and angry. And of course it has. Of course you are angry for the unfairness of it all, and of course you are hating whatever and whoever made you go through this. Perhaps you don't even know what you are hating: is it the spiders and the Orcs, is it a faceless enemy, is it just an idea?"

He leaned closer, over the table that was between them, closer to the frozen figure of Maeloth. His expression softened as concern crept into his frown.

"You have so much repressed anger and you don't know where or how to direct it. I have seen you practice. I have seen you fight. You do both with a self-punishing fierceness. And, when the opportunity for violence appears, you don't let it slip. You  _can't_  let it slip. You weren't eager to kill Arphenion in particular, but you were eager to do something. Anything. I see it in your eyes the whole time: burning in you, the desire to just do something, without really knowing what it is that you need".

She had not expected this. She had expected reprimanding, anger, even a display of disgust and disappointment – but not this. And she had not expected the surge of pain, or the tears that fought to find the way to her eyes. His words were like knives cutting into still raw and sensitive wounds; yet, there was no denying of the truth that rang in them. A truth she hadn't been able to put into words until now. In a way, this was worse than a rebuke.

And he must have known of the effect his words would have. He never spoke carelessly, never without having thought of his words beforehand. So, what did he want to achieve with this? If he was here just to remark on how deeply lost she was in the maze without willing to help her out, he might as well not have come at all. Because, at the moment, hearing him speak was not worth the pain.

She swallowed down the tears that had stood on her throat and glared at Morfindir with a sudden aggression.

He probably understood what she was thinking, because he said: "I am here, as I said before, to make a proposition". He sat up, cast a guarded look towards Belegorn and then turned back to Maeloth. "There is a party leaving soon for an important mission. Prince Legolas will lead a team of a select few to the South, to scout the area and infiltrate, if possible, what we believe to be the stronghold of a powerful enemy".

Maeloth sat up, too.

"We believe that whatever it is that sends these spiders is settled down there. Previous scouting missions have showed great numbers of Orcs and creatures of darkness gathering around the fortress of the Bald Hill. We need to go take a look to determine the nature and the size of the threat. I will go with prince Legolas, of course. And I have personally requested your participation in this mission".

"What?", Maeloth breathed; with the corner of her eye, she saw Belegorn almost jump in surprise.

"I would like you to come with us. I believe you are going to be really useful, seeing that you know the area better than most of us. You've lived there all your life, and it is important to have someone that knows their way around. It is going to be extremely dangerous and I cannot guarantee your safety, so think it over carefully".

She sat frozen in her place, looking at her captain with wide eyes. He knew that what he was asking her was no small thing – he must have known that. He was asking her to go back to the one place she could not bear thinking about. The prospect terrified her; he might as well have asked her to walk awake through the land of her nightmares.

And yet, to go there and see, actually  _see_  what had happened and who was responsible for it… Deep down she longed for it.

She curled her fists so tightly that her nails hurt her skin. She felt the rage Morfindir had been talking about kindle in her, like embers blown upon.

"But that is not the only reason", Morfindir went on, paying close attention to her reactions. "Actually, that's not the reason at all; this is merely what I said to my superiors to justify my request. The actual reason I want you to join us is completely different".

She waited, barely able to draw breath.

"I want you to come and see with your own eyes the place where the events that have hurt you so much took place. I want you to see  _why_  everything happened. I want you to walk these grounds again and see what they have turned into and, perhaps, help us find who is behind all this. I want to give your rage and your hatred a way out.

I don't know if that is the right thing to do and I won't be the one to make the choice for you. Each one of us chooses their own way to cope with the things that hurt them. But you have chosen the sword; and if you are to keep training under my command, I don't want you raging around senselessly.

I want you to meet eye to eye whatever hurt you. I want you to see the real culprit. If you are to rage, know what you are raging for; if you are to hate, know who you hate and why. I want to give you a reason and a target for these feelings, so that you may use them to the best ends, if you choose to.

I cannot stress enough how dangerous it is going to be and I warn you that I cannot guarantee your safety. However, I believe that it is a choice that should be yours to make. Think on it carefully. Take as much time as you need. I'll wait for your answer".

Morfindir stopped talking and silence fell. For a few moments Maeloth just stood still, looking at him, trying to let his words sink in.

She could never have imagined something like this. She knew that Morfindir cared for his soldiers - and for her – but this was beyond the typical concern of a captain for his men. He had never spoken to her like this before. In fact, nobody had. Prince Legolas had been kind and noble – too kind, even – but it had not been what she needed.

She did not need kindness. What she needed was, just as Morfindir said, a way out for her anger and a target for the hatred that scratched at her insides. She needed to know why that night all those weeks ago ever took place. Why she couldn't stop seeing the fires burn in her soul, why she still heard screams in her dreams. What made her wield that sword.

She looked straight into Morfindir's sharp knowing look, into those eyes that had seen what she hadn't been able to. Everything was so clear now, so straight-forward. Only one choice to make, really.

She leaned over the table in eagerness and heard her voice come out deep and harsh.

"I'm in".

"No!", Belegorn shouted.

Both Maeloth's and Morfindir's heads turned towards him; he was staring at his sister, wild-eyed and breathing hard as if he had been running.

"Belegorn-", Maeloth started, but he cut across her.

"No. No, I'm not going to let you".

Maeloth's eyes turned to slits. " _'Let me'..._? This is my choice to make, not-"

"I don't care! This is madness! Going back there... And you!", he turned to Morfindir suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at him. "What are you thinking, coming here and saying those things? You have no right to mess with our lives like that, no right at all!"

Maeloth had every intention to shout at him to shut up, but but Morfindir spoke first.

"I beg your pardon, Belegorn, but I think your overstepping your boundaries. First of all, Maeloth is my subordinate and I have every right to include her in a mission of military nature. And secondly, I'n not here to drag her into anything against her will. I did not order her to follow me, even though I could have. I have let it up to her to choose".

"Don't act like you don't understand!", Belegorn seethed. "You come here and get her all worked up and then-"

"Enough!", Morfindir said, rising to his feet. "It is insolent of you to speak like this to a commanding officer! I don't like using my power, but I will not have this disrespect! You may discuss the matter with your sister if you want to, but you are in no position to question  _my_  actions!"

Belegorn looked ready to retort but Morfindir's intimidating look daunted him, so he just settled at glaring him in silence.

"I understand this choice is a family matter, so I'll leave you two to it", the captain said in a much calmer tone. "Maeloth, please make your decision known to me as soon as possible".

"There's no need, captain", she said firmly. "I told you, I've already made my choice. I'm in, no matter what". As she said these words she cast a threatening look at her brother, but he did not look like he'd object this time.

"Still", Morfindir insisted, "I'll leave you two alone".

"Captain-"

"Settle this", Morfindir said briskly; it almost sounded like an order. "I don't want to pry into your family matters but, if you come with us, make sure there are no hold-backs. It is an important mission and I already told you I won't have you lashing out in the wrong moments".

Maeloth stood up and bowed respectfully. "Understood, captain".

"Good", he said and made to leave.

Maeloth hurried to accompany him to the door and opened it for him. "I am sorry for his behavior", she whispered apologetically just as her captain made to cross the threshold.

He paused and said: "Don't apologize. I understand that this is hard on both of you". Then he looked at her and his lips curved slightly, softening his whole expression. "Do what you feel is right for you. I will support you in any choice".

Gratitude rose up inside her. "Thank you, captain", she murmured.

He tipped his head in acknowledgement and left. Maeloth watched him for a bit as he walked away and then closed the door with a deep sigh.

She remained still, holding the doorknob and feeling Belegorn's eyes on her back. She knew she would have to turn and face him but she didn't want to. She felt like leaving, either to go training or to go for a walk and think over her captain's words. But Morfindir was right. She had to stay and settle this.

It was only last night when she had sought refuge in Belegorn's arms. Last night she had felt that he was the only one who could understand what she needed and the only one who could provide it for her. Yet, at the moment she felt like he was last person capable of doing so. It seemed surreal that things could change so much in such a short span of time.

She turned around and saw him frowning at her in that way that made his eyes look dark and cold. She took a few tentative steps towards him, trying to decide where to begin.

"It was very rude of you to speak like this to him", she said after a while. Her voice was calm, but there was an evident tone of reprimanding in it.

"He deserved it", he snorted.

"No, he didn't", she said sternly. "He had every right to invite me to that mission and I have every right to accept that invitation".

"So I have no say in this?", he raised his voice. "You're saying this doesn't concern me at all?"

Maeloth hesitated. "I guess it affects us both", she admitted. "But try to understand-"

"You try to understand!", he shouted and moved to grab her by the shoulders, covering the distance between them with a few strides. "Can't you see this is madness? Why would you want to go back there? We managed to get away and we are safe here! We are given a chance to rebuild out lives and you want to risk it just to go back? Why?"

"Because I want to see it with my own eyes! Because I have to know why everything happened!"

"Why do you  _have to_? We can just leave it behind us and focus on staying safe together! That place holds nothing for us anymore! There's nothing there but danger and death!"

"That's not true. There are answers there", she said with resolution.

"What does it matter? What will it change?"

"Don't you understand?", she almost whimpered in exasperation. It baffled her that he even had to ask something like this. "I need those answers! I need to know who did this and why!"

"This won't change what happened!"

"No, it won't. But I won't let whoever is responsible get away with it", she gritted her teeth.

"Let it go, Maeloth. Please. For me", he pleaded, tightening the grip on her shoulders.

"I can't! Can't you see? It's eating me from within!", she shouted in despair. She stared at him, heaving, surprised with her own outburst. She craved for him to understand, to be her anchor as he had been the previous night. She wanted his support to make it through this. Was this so much to ask?

He didn't speak for a while. He merely looked at her, considering the words that had just come out of her lips. After a few drawn-out moments of silence, he said in a grave voice: "You're doing this for him, aren't you?"

"What?", Maeloth breathed, bewildered.

"For him", he repeated, disgusted. "You're only doing this because  _he_  asked you to".

All her hopes for understanding came crashing down. She looked back at her brother, barely able to believe what she had just heard. Hopelessness choked her, but it was a sudden anger that pushed her to hiss: "How can you say such a thing? How can you even  _think_  of something like that?"

"You wouldn't have even thought of going down there if he hadn't told you to", he pressed on.

"Is this... really... all you have to say?", she stammered, her voice quivering.

"What else is there to say? He comes in here and acts all wise and knowing and then he just turns upside down whatever we have managed to build! He talks as if he knows you, while in truth he barely even-"

"You know, don't you", she interupted him, trembling all over with rage, "that everything he said was true? All of it. Every little thing".

"He messed with your head".

"He didn't! He just  _gets_  what is going on in my head!", she spat at him. "Are you really that short-sighted? Or are you merely jealous?"

"Jealous?", he repeated indignantly.

"Yes, jealous!", she shouted at the top of her voice, unable to contain her rage any longer. "Is that why you act like this? Because he gets me and you don't? Because he can see what you can't? Because he can understand me when you - my own brother - fail to? Is that why you don't want me going on that mission with him? So that you won't feel as  _inadequate_?"

He let her shoulders go as if he had been burned by them. She expected him to retort in anger but he just staggered back, his face contorted in sudden pain. She watched him back away and curl in on himself but she was too angry to feel any pity.

"I'm going on that mission", she hissed mercilessly. "Deal with it, whether you can understand it or not".

With that she turned around and left, slaming the door behind her without so much as a second glance at her brother's hurt form.


	12. Ash and memory

Maeloth and Belegorn did not exchange a single word over the next week.

Belegorn refused to so much as look at her. He just remained silent and moody in his armchair, eyes fixed on a book at all times. He sat there for days, motionless as a statue, sometimes not even flipping a page for hours. He did not even bother to eat or drink. He seemed perfectly indifferent to such trivial things; or the passage of night and day; or the rest of the world in general. The only thing on him that moved was his hair as the breeze from the open window blew on them, as well as the occasional blinking of his eyes.

At first Maeloth did not bother. She was so angry at him for his attitude and the things he had said that she did not feel like interacting with him, anyway. She left him cold and alone in his armchair, knowing that when he really wanted to, he would snap out of this hypnosis. This wasn't unusual of him, after all. He did this quite often – even though he normally snapped out of it and directed his attention to her whenever she was around.

This was nothing to worry about. He would stop sulking eventually.

She left their room for hours, spending her days training with her unit and her nights drinking wine and playing chess with Eglerion. Morfindir had taken it upon him to prepare her for their mission, so there was a lot of intensive training with him, too.

After two days passed like this, though, her anger for her brother dissipated and she started worrying. Sitting immobile as if carved out of stone might be a hobby of his, but he had never kept at it for more than a few hours. She started dropping by more often just to check on him, but she always ended up leaving again, slamming the door in disappointment and anger when she saw that her presence did not even make him bat an eyelash.

She wondered if all he waited for was for her to take the first step and talk to him, or apologize. She thought of doing it a couple of times, but then her stubbornness took over and she kept silent. She told herself that she had more important matters to worry about than Belegorn's games. If he wanted to talk to her, he would have to get up and do so; if not, then so be it.

"It bothers you, though", Eglerion told her on the third night as they were sitting on his balcony, playing chess under the moon.

"No, it doesn't", Maeloth said through gritted teeth before Eglerion's pawn took her rook.

"Come on. It's quite obvious", he commented softly.

"No – Look…", she said exasperated as he took her knight. "If he wants to stay alone, I'll leave him alone!"

"But that's not what you want".

She snorted. "It's what  _he_  wants, obviously".

"Do you really think so?" He lifted an eyebrow, forgetting about their game for a while and focusing his bright green eyes on her.

She had no answer for that question. She thought Belegorn's current behavior was quite straight-forward. On the other hand, her resolve quivered every time she remembered the night after the battle. He had been so loving and caring that it seemed impossible that the same person could really be that indifferent now.

"He is just stubborn", she said finally. "He will have to get over it and talk to me, if he really wants to".

"Hmm… That's strange. That's exactly what I was going to say to you, too", Eglerion said with a teasing smile.

"Whose side are you on, anyway?"

He shrugged and the smile faded from his lips. "All I'm saying is that, in the end, all you manage to do is hurt each other".

Maeloth huffed and turned her gaze to the moon. "I hate it when you're right", she murmured.

"Well, you'd better get used to it. Eyes on the board!", he sang as he took her queen.

"Oh, by the stars!"

"You have to concentrate if you want to beat me".

"You are a sly fox. You talk to me about Belegorn to distract me!", she said, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Eglerion laughed and shook his head. "You are already distracted, you don't need my help. All I'm doing is giving you a friendly advice".

She made an effort to concentrate on their game but, after Eglerion's inevitable checkmate, she burst out: "There's no way I'm talking to him! Did you forget the way he behaved to captain Morfindir?"

"Dear Erû, here we go again", he rolled his eyes.

She did not follow Eglerion's advice, after all. As the day of the mission drew closer, she had so many preparations to make that she didn't even have time to drop by their room as often as she used to – and, even when she did, there was no change.

Soon, fear and nervousness for the mission started to overwhelm her. Morfindir had prepared her as best as he could but, still, the prospect of venturing south was a daunting one. There was nothing in the world that would stop her from going, but she was terrified nonetheless. She had no idea what she would encounter there and she tried not to let her imagination rage, but things definitely got worse when she turned to her brother and found a cold statue instead of support.

She hoped that in the light of such a dangerous mission, the ice between them would eventually melt and his concern about her would take over, but no such thing happened. What had started out as a sulking game was giving her a great deal of pain now – mostly because she thought it might not be a game after all. He might not even care enough to sulk. This could just be his way of telling her that he wanted her to leave him alone; that whatever affection he had shown her was just a fancy of the moment – or, perhaps, just brotherly duty that she had misinterpreted. That was a painful thought; painful enough to cause her to be the one to break, in the end.

On the morning of the mission she stood before the door of their room, fully armed, clad in light leather armor and wrapped in a dark green cloak. She lingered in the doorway, looking at her brother's figure, at that unchanging outline that had grown to be so familiar.

She noticed he was still on the same page he had been looking at for two days.

She cleared her throat tentatively. So many different fears were gripping at her tongue, but somehow she managed to utter three words.

"I am leaving".

She waited, her throat numb in anxiousness, but Belegorn did not seem to acknowledge that she had just spoken. He kept staring at the same spot on his book.

She bit back bitter disappointment and turned around to leave.

As she pulled the door shut behind her, she thought she caught movement with the corner of her eye. A hopeful feeling exploded in her chest; then the door was shut and everything was still and silent again. No sound behind the door. No reaction. Just her mind messing with her hopes.

She wrapped her cloak tighter around her and started walking down the corridor.

 _Settle this_ , Morfindir had told her.

She had done a fine job, that was for sure.

* * *

It was a clear, brisk autumn morning. The sun had just risen when the scouting party set out for its journey south: seven Elves, all wrapped in the same dark green cloaks. Prince Legolas was leading, his golden hair turning fiery in the first rays of the sun. After him walked Ninrieth, the only woman in the group apart from Maeloth, a member of the prince's personal guard and his trusted friend. Maeloth walked last, behind Morfindir and the other three warriors of the group: Gaelion, Feredir and the strongly-built Berior. Maeloth kept close to her captain, feeling intimidated by the rest of the group: they all had that air of strength and wisdom that comes from experience. She felt quite out of place, but Morfindir's presence was reassuring.

Prince Legolas led the small group down the path and away from the Black Mountains and the Elven capital. Once they entered the shade of the trees, Ninrieth took the lead, going several steps before them with a bow and arrow in the ready.

At some point Ninrieth left the rest of the group and ran ahead, disappearing among the trees.

"Where is she going?", Maeloth asked Morfindir in a low voice.

"Ninrieth is the best scout in the kingdom", he replied. "She's going to make sure that everything is safe for us".

The procession stopped with Ninrieth's departure. They stood silent, waiting for her to return with her report, and they couldn't help but notice how quiet everything was. No animals, no singing of birds, no breeze moving the leaves of the trees. They were a mere few miles south and the air was already growing heavy.

Ninrieth returned a few minutes later with a worried frown on her face. "All clear", she said. "But the stillness is unsettling. It gets worse with every step south".

The look on their faces was enough to affirm that everybody could feel it. They set forth again on swift legs, almost running and barely crunching the dead leaves under their feet.

"Hey", Morfindir whispered at her after they had covered a few more miles. "How do you feel?"

"Um… Well, the forest is downright unpleasant. And the thought that we're headed straight to the heart of whatever is causing this is not very comforting", she replied.

Morfindir huffed in grave agreement. "Something dark is gripping at my soul, too. But this is not what I meant when I asked you how you feel".

"I am feeling… fine", she said, knowing that the opposite was written all over her face. She didn't know what else to say so as not to appear weak and pathetic.

She saw him lift an eyebrow in disbelief. "You can tell me, you know".

She was about to insist that she was fine, but she ended up letting out a humorless chuckle. "You always see right through me, captain. You don't really need my answer".

"Indeed. So, tell me… Are you ready to see your old home?", he asked in a voice low enough for the others not to hear.

She shook her head. "I don't think I'll ever be ready. But I have to see it". She paused for a while before adding in a low voice: "The worst part is not knowing what to expect".

Her captain sighed deeply. "The truth is none of us does – but, no matter what we meet down there, I expect it to be harder for you. So I want you to remember one thing". She felt his dark eyes pierce her intensely. "You are not alone in this, Maeloth. I'll make sure I'm next to you at all times. Whatever you need, I'll be there".

She had no voice to answer. She just nodded, her breath burning in a throat constricted by gratitude.

Then, for some reason, her mind traveled back to Belegorn. Back to her brother, who hadn't shown even a trace of the consideration Morfindir had for her; to her brother, who did not even look at her before leaving, let alone say goodbye. An ache in her heart added up to the burning in her throat.

Last night Eglerion had taken it upon him to give her a proper send-off. They had sat on his balcony and drunk and laughed and talked, but that hadn't been enough to dull the pain from Belegorn's indifference. And now Morfindir's concern was only accentuating that coldness, that seemingly insurmountable gap between her brother and her.

Anger lit up in her. Anger at Belegorn once more, like so many times before over these last few days.

She felt her face harden. No, she would not think about Belegorn anymore. It was not worth it: she had friends and comrades and a mission before her. She had allowed him to cause her enough pain already.

"Thank you for everything, captain", she said firmly. "I'll try not to disappoint you".

Morfindir frowned a bit at her sudden change of expression, but all he said was: "You're very welcome".

They continued their way down the path to the south without talking anymore, but she could see Morfindir glancing at her every now and then.

After a few miles they had to leave the path and enter the maze of trees. From that point on it became necessary for Ninrieth to leave quite often and scout the area ahead. The woods were thick and hostile in their silence, the light growing fainter with each step. Not a patch of sky was visible past the branches and the air under their roof felt stagnant and heavy.

"It's so dark", Feredir said at some point. "It can't be nighttime already".

"I don't think so. This darkness is not natural", Legolas replied.

It was definitely nighttime – or some time early in the morning – when they stopped for a small break. The heavy atmosphere had dampened their spirits and they did not talk much. The silence was absolute, sending chills down their spine, and the darkness was so deep that their elven eyes could barely penetrate it. They all held their weapons in the ready even though there was no indication of nearby enemies, not even spiders. They could not shake off the feeling that something was not right. In the end, they took off in a bigger hurry than before, agreeing that the sooner they reached the south, the sooner they would leave.

They kept going on restless feet, looking over their shoulders every now and then. Ninrieth kept getting paler with every scouting run, even though she had nothing to report. After a few hours they started turning expectantly to Maeloth, waiting for directions or information on the area, for they were getting close to her old homeland.

She had been observing every root and tree and branch and she had been racking her brains for even the slightest remembrance, but the area seemed completely unfamiliar. She knew she had crossed that part of the woods with Belegorn at her side, but she didn't remember them being this thick and dark. She could vividly picture that walk through the forest, from the moment Belegorn grabbed her by the hand and urged her to run to the moment she collapsed before Morfindir's squad. No part of the forest that she was seeing now corresponded with any of the images in her mind.

"This is all wrong", she exclaimed suddenly, stopping to look around. The rest of the group paused in their tracks and turned to her questioningly. "We are close to the old southern settlement, we know that much", she explained, looking from one frowning face to another, "but this is all wrong. I walked this part of the woods two months ago and it looks nothing like it did then. The trees have grown denser, the paths are gone… The area is unrecognizable", she ended up desperately. "It's as if something changed the forest".

She saw them glancing at one another and wondered if they thought her mad. She tried to catch Morfindir's gaze for support, but he was looking at prince Legolas expectantly.

The prince walked to a nearby tree and placed a hand on its rough trunk. "It's been a long time since I walked these parts of the forest", he said slowly. "But you're right. I don't remember them being like this, either. And the trees refuse to talk to me. I am afraid the forest is, indeed, changing".

"What could have such power?", Berior asked, his voice torn between disbelief and fear.

Nobody answered that, but it was all in the fearful looks they exchanged. It had been centuries since dark powers of this might were seen on Middle-Earth. Ever since the War of the Last Alliance, the shadow had grown weak. Maeloth could see the same suspicions stir in the eyes of her companions, a suspicion that none of them dare voice.

They turned south again with wide strides and an air of urgency, knowing that the only answers settled ahead of them. All they could do was keep going.

After Ninrieth returned from her next scouting excursion, she turned to Maeloth in desperation. "It's hard to tell where we are or which way to go. I know you say that everything looks different, but we need your best guess".

They all looked at her hopefully. She sighed and squinted at the darkness around her, trying to penetrate it even though it was of no use. She had no idea where they were, either, but she was too embarrassed to admit it.

She glanced anxiously at Morfindir. She had promised not to disappoint him and she wanted to keep that promise.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember the beginning of that journey north, when Belegorn led her away from blood and fire. There were trees singing back then: birch-trees and elk and oak. She opened her eyes. There was birch and elk and oak around her, but they were still and silent, looking down at her like intimidating watchmen.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and turned to the deep darkness in her right. She could see nothing specific there, but she could feel something pushing her away and, at the same time, pulling her towards that direction: something unpleasant that made breathing hard. Every way seemed the wrong way, but that opening between the bushes felt the wrongest path of all. And that could only mean it was the right one.

"I'm not sure if I can trust my hunch", she murmured, "but I think we ought to go that way". She pointed to her right, to the darkness that seemed eager to swallow her.

She saw Feredir shrug. "We might as well try it out. It's the best we've got".

"I'll go check it out", Ninrieth said and dove in the shadows between the trees.

Maeloth felt Morfindir's hand on her shoulder. "How are you holding up?", he whispered.

The sigh she let out was quivering. "I'll manage. Don't worry".

She felt him squeeze her shoulder before letting go. She wished he would have held on a little longer; even that small touch was comforting, something solid and alive among the dark stare of the trees. She dreaded Ninrieth's return, because that would mean that they would have to go in that abyss – and she really didn't want to go that way. Anywhere but that way.

A rustle of leaves and Ninrieth's head appeared among the bushes, her beautiful features drawn and her lips pale. "Come on. I think this is the right path".

They followed her, gripping tightly at the hilts of their long knives. Maeloth dragged her heavy feet along, not caring about appearing weak or afraid. She thought she was beyond the point of hiding it.

She thought she recognized the patch of ground she was walking on: there was a path there once, even though it was now covered with thorny bushes and twisted roots. Or it might all just be in her mind. This could be the wrong way. She almost wished her hunch was wrong.

"I think it is right here, on the left…", Ninrieth whispered.

A faint light warned them that the trees ahead were dispersing, until they eventually gave way to a wide clearing. The sky above them was finally visible but it was a deep, murky grey, as if it hadn't made its mind between night and day. This sick half-light revealed a view that made them halt on the edge of the line of trees, looking around wide-eyed and breathless.

Burnt, blackened trunks with charred branches welcomed them to a large, open area where the sky and the ground had the same, ashen color. There was not a patch of grass of a green leaf to break the monotony of black and grey. As far as the eye could see, everything was burnt to a crisp: trees and buildings, pathways and small roads. Debris and all the different tones of grey ruled over this desolate kingdom. Half-collapsed houses stood among the ashes, forming a perverted version of a village: a place that could have escaped out of a nightmare, with blackened cobblestones leading from one dead house to the next. Ash swirled in the air: the only movement in the still landscape, rising and falling in the breeze in a parody of a breath. And, in the center of it all, a dreadful hill of bones and rags and half-discernible limbs, like a monument created by the hands of a twisted sculptor.

Maeloth looked around, the breath caught in her throat. She had seen the fires that consumed that land – she could still see them every night, when she closed her eyes. She had heard the screams of the ones that now lay in that pile and the songs of those trees that now were but lifeless charcoal. Her dreams were filled with shouts and shrieks, bangs and clashes and the roar of fire, colors and shadows constantly moving in a mad dance. It was hard to believe that the same place could now be so still and silent. Ash was covering everything like a veil. She wondered, if she could somehow lift it, would she reveal all the noise and the panic and the blood that was hidden beneath?

This silence was not real. This was not real.

Perhaps this was the wrong place, after all. Perhaps this was not her homeland. This could be some other village, one of the many that were surely destroyed.

She took a few hesitant steps down the ash-covered path, looking at the frames of buildings that were still standing. It was easy to recreate the shape and structure of that village based on its charred remains. One could easily tell where a house stood, or a street, a well, a garden. She walked around, rebuilding the village in her mind, adding colors and trees and life. And then she stopped in the middle of a junction.

She couldn't recognize a thing. Not a road, nor a building. No familiar patterns. The images she created in her mind were tied to no memories. She looked at the path she was standing on, one that seemed to lead to a small square. It rang no bells.

That was not her homeland. Just some other unfortunate place.

She sighed in relief. For some reason, it was comforting that this desolate place was not her home. Perhaps her homeland had not seen such ugliness. Perhaps there were still trees and grass and a few wild flowers. She might find out soon. No matter what, this poor land was not her home.

She finally managed to take a big, calming breath that filled her lungs with ash. She heard her companions approach her and turned to them: they all looked stricken and pale. Maeloth, however, sought Morfindir's gaze and said, almost smiling in her relief: "This is not my homeland".

The look he gave her was a startled one. "What? What do you mean?"

"It's some other village. Not the one I lived in".

They all exchanged concerned looks; Gaelion scratched his head awkwardly.

Legolas took a step towards her. "There were no other settlements west to the walls of the fortress of Amon Lanc. This was the only one. This has to be it".

Maeloth shook her head animatedly. "No, that has to be wrong. The place I lived in was nothing like this". She turned her back to them to look again at the debris that was strewn before her, ready to analyze the differences to them and prove her point. "First of all, in my village-", she started off and then she paused, startled by a sudden thought. Sure, this looked nothing like her village, but…  _What_  did her village look like?

She hadn't thought back on it for a long time because of the pain it caused her. They never talked about it with Belegorn, either, but now was the time to willingly dive back into old memories. She did not care about pain at the moment. She had to remember and explain to them, because they had started whispering behind her back.

She closed her eyes tightly and tried to remember. She saw the fires again; she heard the roar of a collapsing building. She felt her hands tremble, but that did not matter. She tried to push that memory away, for it was not the one she was looking for. She had to remember something simple, like the main street, or her family's house.

In her mind's eye she saw Orcs running down what could only be the main street; she saw her father's skull being crushed in front of her family's house.

"No", she murmured impatiently to herself, trying to push those images away, too. She had to go further back, before the attack. She had to remember and explain to them.

She tried to picture her home, the house she grew in, but all she managed to recall was a blurry outline behind smoke and flames.

"No", she heard herself repeat, desperate in her impatience. She gritted her teeth and ordered herself to remember. She could recall buildings burning, people screaming, running, fighting...

"No".  _Think_.

She took a few big inhales, deciding to try and remember something simpler, like her family.

No faces came back to her. No names. She could remember corpses though. She could remember a broken thing that must have once been one of her brothers.

No. Think further back,  _think further back_.

Nothing.

Nothing before the fire and the screams and the blood. It was as if her life had started on that night and there was nothing before. But that couldn't be right.

Perhaps if she tried to remember a few of the moments she had shared with Belegorn she would have better luck. Belegorn's image was fresh in her mind, so it should be easier. They grew up together, didn't they? They must have shared a lot.

They must have. They must.

She could picture Belegorn in his armchair by the window, back in their room in the elven capital. She could see him frowning at her, smiling at her. She could remember him hugging her and kissing her before the battle. She could even picture him unconscious as she dragged him between the trees. She could picture him crying as he ran, holding tightly on her hand.

"No".

Nothing before that. A wall of fire had burnt the rest away.

But surely they must have shared a lot. She had to remember. She had to.

"No".

A pair of strong arms closed around her and she felt herself being pulled into a hug. Somebody called her name many times over. A voice that she recognized.

She opened her eyes to find herself against Morfindir, his black eyes filled with sorrow and worry and a bit of something warm and beautiful. The next thing she realized was that she was on her knees and that her own eyes were stinging.

She looked around madly. She was still among the frames of buildings, a few paces away from the pile of corpses. Her companions stood several steps behind, looking like they did not know what to do. Ninrieth was no longer among them and was nowhere to be seen; Legolas, Gaelion, Feredir and Berior were looking at her with a mixture of pity and sadness. Maeloth turned back to Morfindir and grabbed at his clothes tightly, pulling him closer to her.

"I can't remember", she whispered at him, an edge of panic in her voice. She saw concern soften his eyes and she pulled harder on his clothes with fists that shook. "Morfindir", she called his name like a plea, not even thinking whether it was appropriate to talk to him like this in front of their superiors, "I can't remember. I can't!"

Morfindir's hand moved to her hair to caress them. "Calm down. Breathe", he murmured soothingly.

"I can't remember", she repeated, the terror audible in her voice.

"I know. I know, Maeloth. It's alright. Breathe. I am here".

"Why?", she demanded, her voice quivering. "Why can't I-? Why can't I-?"

He pulled her into a tighter hug and her face hid in his black hair. She felt her whole body heave with the force of her breaths as Morfindir kept caressing her hair and murmuring soothing words.

"Why can't I?", she repeated, completely lost.

"It happens sometimes. It's alright. Breathe".

She tried to concentrate on his voice and calm herself down, but she couldn't stop her mind from searching frantically for memories that weren't there. She broke free from his hug rather forcefully and looked around again.

"This is it, isn't it? This is the place".

It was not a question, but Morfindir nodded anyway. "Yes. This is the place", he confirmed in a low voice.

Everything looked so much worse all of a sudden. She turned to the pile of corpses. Her family should be somewhere in that pile. She might not remember them, but there was a chance that she could recognize them if she managed to dig their bodies out.

She headed straight for the pile, her mouth pursed in a tight line.

"Maeloth!", Morfindir called out in alarm as he sprang to his feet. He caught up to her before she had managed to touch the corpses and grabbed at her arms, pulling her back and away from the decomposing bodies.

"Let me go!", she growled, trying to free herself from his grip.

"No! No, look at me!", he shouted, turning her so that she faced him instead of the pile of corpses. She tried to fight him, so he said sternly: "I command you to stay put!"

She felt her face contort from holding back the urge to tell him that she did not care about his orders. In the next moment, his command sank in and the impulse to retort faded, leaving her stricken and weak in the knees.

She placed a hand against Morfindir's chest in a desperate attempt to either push him away or stabilize herself. Then her legs gave in and she collapsed on her knees, heaving hard and unable to shed the tears that were choking her. Her eyes burned, her throat burned and her head felt like it was about to explode, but all she could do was sit on the ashes and listen to the pathetic gasps that came out of her mouth.

For a few long, terrible moments this was all that could be heard along that barren land. And then Ninrieth's voice came from afar, breaking through the silence.

"My lord!"

They all turned their heads to the direction of her voice. She was running towards them with a flushed face and an urgent look in her eye.

"What is wrong, Ninrieth?", Legolas called out to her.

She came to halt before him and breathed out one word.

"Orcs!"


	13. The Old Fortress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update took much longer than expected. I apologize for the wait, but life has been... bat-shit crazy over the past few months. Things are somewhat back to normal, though, so yay. ^_^  
> Perhaps this is a nice opportunity to say that I'm not going to discontinue this story, even if updates become scarce whenever life tends to be like... you know, life. I've had this story in my head for the past ten years and now I'm finally putting it down to paper (...and screen, I guess). I haven't given up on it after all these years, and I sure ain't gonna give up on it now. I have it all planned out, after all.
> 
> Okay then, new chapter! Enjoy and, as always, let me know what you think! Reviews are the best fuel for a writer. :D

At the sound of the word, Maeloth's blood started rushing. She did not wait to hear more. She did not care about the report Ninrieth was giving to prince Legolas; she did not care about the details at all. She only wanted one thing: wipe the Orcs out. No matter their number, their position or the distance. She just wanted to drive her sword through each and every one of them.

She sprang to her feet and drew her sword, as all her thoughts were narrowed down to two images dominating her mind. One was that of Orcs roaming around and laying desolation to the very streets that she was standing in, while the other was the image of her own vengeful blade slicing through their rotten skin. She could almost see their gleeful eyes dim before her, their blood drenching the ground until no dry spot of earth remains.

She had noticed Ninrieth point to some place south-west and that was where she headed to - or, at least, that was where she tried to go. She barely managed to take a couple of steps before a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her and immobilized her despite her will.

"Let me go!", she shouted wildly, trying to fight her way out of the firm grip while her eyes remained fixed on that patch of trees that was her destination.

"No, Maeloth!", a voice breathed in her ear, warm and strong just like the hands that were holding her.

She turned around to find herself glowering straight into Morfindir's eyes.

"Let me go", she repeated, a mad hint of menace in her voice.

"No, Maeloth! Think!", he said, shaking her as if trying to bring her back to her senses. "Is this what you really want?"

"Yes! Now let me go!", she shouted in his face.

"Try to think clearly!", he insisted, raising his voice, too. "What will you achieve this way?"

"I don't know- I don't care- Let me-"

"No!", he shouted back, his velvety voice turning rough. "Remember what I told you, what I  _warned_  you about a few days earlier! This is not the solution you are looking for, this is no-"

"I don't care!", she screamed at the top of her voice, pain shredding at her throat. "I will kill them all, I swear! I will rip them apart! I will make them pay, I will-"

"Enough!"

Prince Legolas' voice cut through their quarrel, his figure following shortly after as he approached them and planted himself in front of Maeloth. He deliberately stood between her and the south edge of the clearing, blocking her view of her objective and forcing her to look at his stern face instead.

"Lady Maeloth, pull yourself together! You are not allowed to do anything that might put our lives in danger - or yours, for that matter - nor anything that might risk giving away our position to the enemy". He was not shouting, but she was under the impression that his voice was louder than what Morfindir's and hers had been. She found herself cowering despite her will, the struggle for freedom forgotten momentarily. "Releasing you from our command is out of the question, but if you feel that you can't continue, I will arrange an escort back. It is either that, or composing yourself and seeing this mission through. In any case, I will not allow you to take a single step further if I feel that you are a threat to this mission in any way. Am I clear?"

His voice rang past the sound of blood rushing in her ears, piercing through her rage and the mess that were her thoughts to some spot deeper. Maeloth shied from his hard gaze and lowered her eyes to the ground, sudden embarrassment quenching her anger.  _Arrange an escort back_... Had she really reached that point where she had to be sent back, disgraced and humiliated and utterly useless once more? Was that the only option left to her?

Her hands - no, her whole body - still quaked from the rage that burnt in each of her veins, making her muscles tighten so much that she could almost feel them hurt her bones. Rage and hatred and pain - so much pain...

A sudden thought of Belegorn streaked her mind. She pictured herself going back to him, broken and defeated, with the embarrassment of having to be relieved from her duties pressing heavily down on her shoulders.

He didn't want her to go south because it would be too dangerous. Because he thought she couldn't take it. And now she would go back and prove him right.

She couldn't allow this to happen. She couldn't allow herself to be this weak. Not again, and definitely not in this place again. She couldn't crawl back like a dog with its tail between its legs, looking for a cozy hug to drive away her fears. She was stronger than that. And if she wasn't, then she would hardly mattered, since the outcome would be the same. She would see this mission to its end, no matter what.

"There will be no need for an escort back, my lord", she mumbled, eyes still downcast.

She focused on the prince's thin shoes, hardly sinking in the ash, and didn't let her gaze stray further than that. She didn't want to direct it to the charred frames of buildings or the pile of corpses again. If this place was this bad for her - if it was driving her  _this_ weak - then she simply would not cast another glance on it. She would leave that ash-covered clearing with her eyes closed, if she had to. Anything to see this mission to its end. Anything to not be brought to her knees again.

"I am sorry for my outburst. I assure you, I am back to my senses. I will not cause any more trouble". She tried to keep her voice blank and curled her fists tightly to not let the tremble of her still-lingering rage betray her.

She could feel the prince's gaze nailed on her in suspicion - and, perhaps, distrust - so she took a deep breath and lifted her eyes, hoping that a bit of eye contact would be more persuasive than her bent head.

"I am sorry, my lord", she said again, and she almost meant it this time. Another kind of embarrassment had set in; one that stemmed from being part of a select few to follow their prince to this mission and not managing to live up to it. She hated herself for betraying his trust. And she hated herself for betraying Morfindir's trust.

She mostly saw than heard the sigh Legolas left, saw the movement of his chest before he spoke. "Do not apologize for your feelings. However, I have to ensure the success of this mission and the safety of everyone involved. So I have to make a few things clear before we go on. If you disobey any order, or if I deem you incapable of following this mission, I will have to send you back".

 _Incapable of following._ Maeloth cringed. "Yes, my lord".

He sighed again and directed his gaze to Morfindir over Maeloth's shoulder. "We leave in five minutes". With that he left them, returning to Ninrieth's side to resume discussing the details of their next step.

Maeloth turned to Morfindir, wanting to apologize to him too, but the words drowned in her throat when she met his dark eyes. She settled for an apologetic look instead, hoping that it would be enough to convey her feelings. She knew, however, that if she were in his shoes, that would not be enough to re-establish her lost trust in her.

After a long, hard look, Morfindir's features softened. "It would be stupid to ask if you are feeling better, but are you sure you're still up to this?"

Maeloth nodded feverishly. "Yes. I want to go on. I have to see it through, captain".

"There's no need to push yourself any more than you can take-"

"I  _can_ take this. I can". She almost growled the word. She vaguely noticed the background of burnt houses past Morfindir's head and shut her eyes. Hoping that her next words wouldn't make her sound too weak, she said: "I just... I have to leave this place".

A rustle of fabric told her that Morfindir had nodded. "All right". She felt his hand on her shoulder. She dared open her eyes a few inches, just enough for her field of vision to be filled with Morfindir's green uniform and black hair and black, soft eyes. "Let's get you out of here, then".

She let him lead her to where the rest of their group stood, while steadily keeping her eyes around Morfindir's heels. She kept her gaze downcast even as the rest discussed their options and their course of action, trying to concentrate on their voices rather than the sight behind her back.

"So, we follow the Orcs as stealthily as possible to see if they are, indeed, headed to the fortress of Amon Lanc", prince Legolas was saying. "Last time we didn't manage to approach the area, but this could be our chance. We follow them, we stay low and we slip through along with them. We will  _not_  engage with them unless I give a direct order to do so". With that, he eyed Maeloth in a - quite unnecessary - effort to point out that this comment was meant for her. She forced herself to return his gaze and nod, trying to gain back even a shred of her lost reliability before hastily focusing on the ground again.

Thankfully, they did not linger in that place much longer. It seemed that none of them wanted to stay there for more than was absolutely necessary, so they soon filed out of the burnt-down clearing with Ninrieth leading the way to the south.

Maeloth lifted her head only when the shadow of the trees covered them once more and grass became visible under the gradually thinning layer of ash. She found herself able to breathe again as the smell of rot and smoke abated. The air was still thick and repulsive with that new, undefinable quality of the south but, even so, Maeloth took several deep, relieved inhales, just to wash away the smell of ash from her nostrils.

It was not long before they heard rough voices and the clanking of tens of armored feet ahead of them. The party halted at Legolas' raised hand and, following his indication, they climbed on the trees. Safely hidden in the foliage, the Elves jumped from branch to branch like seven green shadows in the leaves, several feet above the ground. They stopped when the deemed they were at a safe distance and waited for the Orcs to march past them.

The band was comprised of about sixty Orcs, all armed and armored and looking ready for battle. They marched before the hidden Elves in disordered lines, stomping their feet and marring the Forest with their presence.

Maeloth moved to an opening in the foliage to get a better look at them. She might not have wanted to look at her hometown before, but she wanted to get a good look at the Orcs; she coveted it with the same aggressive resolve that she wanted to attack them earlier.

Seeing their forms again was not a surprise for her. Their disfigured faces, their ungraceful gait, their rotten skin; every single one of their queer features had been carved in her memories in sharp detail. As she watched them shuffle past her, she felt her restrained fury flare up again, but she did not try to attack them. This time, she did not even have to fight the urge to. She just watched, greedily taking in their features and reveling at her growing hatred with a twisted satisfaction.

She hated them - oh, how she hated them. Every inch of her body cringed with disgust, every pore in her skin steamed with burning fury, every muscle was tight with that wild instinct that demanded action, fight, blood. She wanted them all dead, right then and there, but she did not move. All she did was keep looking and providing kindling to stoke those feelings because - that was almost funny - it kind of made the pain go away. Or, at least, it made the pain not matter anymore.

What mattered now was one thing: how to kill them. Not one or two or ten, but all of them.

Morfindir had been right to stop her before because, if she had just charged at them like this, she would have died for sure. She might have managed to take down one, or two, or ten of them, but then they would have taken her down - and that simply would not do. Ten was too small a number. No, she would not settle for anything less than all of them. And if she wanted to achieve that, she had to be smart about it.

So she kept looking at them and thinking what would be the best way to bring them all down, plans forming in her head one after the other. Of course, Legolas had ordered not to engage with them and she wouldn't. At least, not yet. After all, it would be nigh impossible to take on sixty Orcs all by herself.

Fact was she had some of the best fighters of the Woodland Realm at her side. There should be some way to make that work to her advantage and, if she was smart enough about it, it might not even look like she was disobeying orders. Engaging with the Orcs would be necessary if  _something_  went wrong and her group's safety depended on it. She just had to find a way to get the others involved in this.

Soon they started moving again, jumping from tree to tree without a sound, even though it would be impossible for them to be heard over the ruckus the Orcs were making. Maeloth barely got her eyes off of them, reveling in that strange power the hunters feels as he stalks his prey. There was simply nothing compared to the feeling of seeing them there, unsuspecting and clueless, while she was so close, planning their death.

She could already savor the taste of revenge. It was so sweet it made her smile.

She was so caught up in coming up with the most efficient plan to wipe them out, that she didn't even notice that the ground had started sloping up, or that the Orcs were growing more quiet and reserved. She didn't even notice that the trees were dispersing until it got too hard to jump from one branch to the other, the distance having grown remarkably.

She searched for her companion's faces for the first time in a while and found them pale and uncertain. And then she noticed, too: far ahead of them, through the branches, seemed to loom a great, dark mass. She did not have a clear view yet, but she could hear the distant hustle of hundreds - or perhaps even thousands - of creatures: voices and steps and clanks and shrieks.

The band of Orcs they had been following had fallen silent. Maeloth was under the impression that their dark and shriveled skin had grown paler - if such a thing was possible for those beings.

A low whistle, not unlike the cry of a bird, caught her attention. She turned around and saw Legolas beckoning to all of them, perched on the thick branch of a massive oak. With a few light jumps, the Elves gathered around him, leaving the Orcs to continue their way.

"This  _is_  the fortress of Amon Lanc", Legolas breathed, pointing to the dark mass past the trees; the very place the Orcs were headed. "We were right. They have taken King Oropher's old fortress".

"And there are thousands of them in there, by the sound of it", Morfindir commented.

"So what do we do now?", Feredir whispered. There was no answer at that, as everybody looked at each other with equally lost expressions.

"Come on, let's follow them", Legolas said decisively before the silence stretched out for too long. "Let's get as close as possible".

They jumped down from the tree and ran in a crouch among the bushes until they caught up with the rearguard of the Orcs. The ruckus was getting louder, with added noises from the clanking of hammers against metal. Maeloth shivered involuntarily, noticing once more that indeterminable stench in the air, the one that stuck in their throats and fell in their lungs heavy as mud. The dark mass ahead of them was gradually getting more defined, as walls, towers and windows came into view.

Giant hinges creaked with a terrible, ear-grazing sound; a harsh voice roared orders in an unknown language. The band of Orcs had broken out of the line of trees and the gates were opening to admit them. The party of Elves tiptoed to the very edge of the treeline, still hidden among the short, ill-looking bushes, and looked at the scene before them with their breath caught in their throats.

The Bald Hill, or Amon Lanc, was a steep mound of earth with no trees or vegetation, but with a majestic fortress perched on its top like a crown. Countless tall towers pierced at the sky above; the sheer height and multitude of them could easily immobilize one in awe. Their sides were dotted with myriads of windows, no doubt to provide the Elves that once lived there with plenty of sunlight or an unobstructed view of the stars. The architecture had the grace and elegance that was characteristic in all Elven creations but, nevertheless, something was off. Something was terribly, terribly off.

At a first glance, the tall fortress seemed deserted. There were no lights, no smoke rising from any of the chimneys, no flags flapping in the breeze nor movement in the balconies. The windows gaped blankly outwards like the open mouths of some beast, or like the vacant eyes of something dead and sinister. In fact, the whole building gave off the air of a corpse. Whatever elegance or beauty characterized it in past years seemed to have decayed and crumbled away, leaving something distorted in its place, ugly like a half-decomposed carcass. The sky above it seemed tainted, the colors dull and dirty; a sick hue that was a parody of blue. And it  _stared_  at them; the whole thing stared at them like a vulture with a million dark eyes, latched on the top of the hill with its claw-like towers. Watching them.

That was the right word: they felt like they were being watched.

But, while the fortress itself seemed dead and empty, the hill around it did not. As they lay hidden in the bushes, the Elves were facing a tall wall, one that seemed newly erected and apparently circled the whole hill. They could see more Orcs on it, patrolling on the top of the wall or around its foot. Every now and then, they caught a glimpse of the hairy bodies and the eight-eyed glower of giant spiders emerging from behind the battlements. They could discern movement on the slopes of the hill, too: more spiders and files of Orcs, seemingly headed from the wall to the fortress and back, even though the latter still seemed disturbingly vacant.

Maeloth simply gawked at the view before her, the Orcs momentarily forgotten; or rather, new, stronger feelings had overcome her hatred for them.

Fear ruled there, undiscriminating fear. It was thick and almost tangible around them, tainting everything from the ground to their breaths. She felt the strong urge to curl on the ground and cover her eyes in dread, but something kept her from doing that. It was as if, deep down, she knew that this overwhelming fear was not natural, not to this extent. It was not exactly born in her, but somehow forced on her: something or someone was causing it, spreading it around like that sick air that hung heavy over the Forest.

So she tried to swallow that cowardly urge and focus on what was going on in front of her eyes, even though she could feel cold sweat moisten her brows and palms.

The now familiar band of Orcs was filing past the main gate of the wall under the scrutinizing gaze of at least two dozen guards. The Elves glanced at each other, the same thing passing unspoken among them: sneaking past the gate behind the Orcs was not an option. They had zero chances of sneaking stealthily through the main gate.

"Follow me", Legolas ordered in a whisper and motioned them back to the thick foliage, away from the wall and the now closing gate.

The group huddled around him, all of them bearing similar expressions of terror and desperation. Only the prince seemed to keep a level of calmness.

"We need to find a way in", he announced, causing a round of startled gasps from all six of his companions.

"My lord... How?", Ninrieth dared inquire.

"We will circle the hill. there's bound to be a weak spot somewhere".

Maeloth threw a discreet glance at Morfindir; her captain seemed as bewildered as her.

"My prince, we are not prepared for something like that. An infiltration of such a scale requires meticulous planning, which we have not-", Gaelion started explaining but he was cut off.

"I know, Gaelion, but we might not get another chance. We managed to get close to the hill for the first time, so we might as well exploit this chance in the best way possible".

"Our luck is bound to run out, sooner or later. Perhaps we shouldn't push-"

"We can't leave now. Not when we are so close", Legolas pressed on, looking at them all straight in the eyes. "Each one of you has been hand-picked for their abilities, their insight, their wisdom, their power". Maeloth frowned in disbelief at this, but Legolas shot her a look that silently said  _yes, even you_. "I have the best possible group of warriors with me and we are right outside the gates. True, we don't know exactly what lies behind these walls, but we will never learn if we don't take a chance. We will never be better prepared than now; not as long as we don't know what we're dealing with". He took a deep breath to allow his comrades to ponder on his words before going on. "Do I have your support?"

They all exchanged unsure glances. Ninrieth, the prince's ever-faithful follower and friend, was the first to speak. "I am by your side, no matter what".

Legolas nodded his thankfulness and turned to the rest of the group. Maeloth saw his blue eyes piercing her. She could still hear the harsh voices of the Orcs in the distance, along with the faint clicking of spider claws. Something of her previous determination solidified in her. She did not know if it was her hate of the Orcs that quenched her fear, or her previous disposition to not go back home with nothing to show for it, but she found herself speaking up after Ninrieth. "And so am I, my lord".

The surprised glances of her comrades barely registered as she focused on Legolas' small, content smile. One by one, they all pledged themselves to Legolas' command once more, setting aside whatever hold-backs they had for this. Something heavy seemed to settle on their shoulders as they renewed their bond, a new kind of awareness dawning on all of them. With a sense of doom looming so close, such a feeling seemed inescapable.

"Thank you, my friends", Legolas said with a small bow, acknowledging the weight of their choice.

After that they were off again, this time following Ninrieth towards the south foot of Bald Hill. The plan was to circle the hill until they find a breach in the wall, or at least a weak spot from where they could sneak inside. Their next goal would be to roughly estimate the size of their enemies' forces - and the nature of it, if possible. They hoped for nothing more sinister than some Orcs and spiders, banded together by a common vindictiveness and hatred for the Elves. However, how simple Orcs could cause such a twist in the Forest, they did not know. That is where the final part of their plan came in: infiltration of the Old Fortress. If there was a chief, or a leader, or a mastermind behind all this, that is the only place they could reside.

So they jogged under the trees, close to the end of the tree-line, but sufficiently hidden from the eyes that patrolled on and out of the wall. Every now and then, when it seemed safe enough to do so, they approached the edge of their green-leafed cover to check on the thick rock wall.

Maeloth felt like they had been going on for hours when Ninrieth let out a triumphant cry.

"There! See?"

She was pointing at an opening, like a small tunnel, from where a steady stream of... something liquid was streaming out. They approached the stream cautiously, lancing around for - thankfully non-existent - guards. They scrunched their noses as they approached the 'stream' and a hideous smell assaulted them. The thing that was running from that opening was definitely not water, seeing as it was murky and greenish.

"Please, tell me we won't have to go through this thing", Feredir whimpered faintly. At a first glance, the 'stream' looked knee-deep.

"Well... I don't see any other way", Ninrieth said.

She approached the foot of the wall and stood at the very edge of the greenish stream, holding on to the rough rock of the wall for extra balance. She carefully leaned low to peer into the darkness of the little tunnel, all the while holding her nose tightly shut with her free hand.

"It doesn't look like there are bars or any kind of obstacle, but I'll have to make sure". She took a deep breath through her mouth. "Here goes", she said bravely and stepped in the muck.

They saw her hesitate for a few instants before she started making her way in the small, low-ceilinged tunnel, her feet making awful squelching sounds through the thick, steady flow of the stream. They waited, trying their best not to breathe in the nasty fumes of that thing, until Ninrieth's loud whisper reached their ears.

"It looks safe. I think you can come".

They all exchanged the least entertained looks before making their way to the mouth of the opening. They were halfway though placing their feet in the muck, when they simultaneously froze in their places.

They could hear noise. Footsteps - tens, or hundreds of them - hurried and heavy. Clanking of armor. Clicking of claws. Shuffling, growing louder, growing closer from all sides. Approaching fast.

They looked at each other with identical panicked, wide-eyed expressions. Then they heard Ninrieth running back towards them, splashing wildly in the darkness ahead of them and whispering to herself.

"How, how-? How did they-? What-? Oh no, no-  _A Elbereth Gilthoniel, o menel palan-diriel_ -". Her frantic chant echoed along the curved walls of the tunnel.

This only made their panic mount. At a curt nod from Legolas, they drew their swords and looked around.

Far to their right, beyond the curve of the long wall, emerged a throng of Orcs; same thing on their left, on the south side of the wall. Instinctively they looked to the Forest, their only apparent way of escape, and their blood froze when they saw the glint of malicious eyes in the darkness. And they all seemed to be headed right towards them.

Maeloth barely had time to gulp down a lump of dry nothingness before a voice echoed in her skull: a drawn-out, gloating whisper.

" _I know you are here_ " _._


	14. The chase

Time froze. None of the Elves moved as the whisper died away in a hiss.

The sound of scurrying Orcs swelled in their ears and still the Elves did not move. They stood, barely breathing, with minds numb in fear.

The first one to break the stillness was Legolas. His gaze searched for his companions' eyes, but his face was no longer set in stoic determination. His brow crinkled and the same question that troubled his comrades was etched on his features.

However, Ninrieth was the one to voice it. "What was that?"

None of them had an answer, as clearly stated in the befuddled looks they exchanged. The initial numbness gave way to mounting panic and the realization that their situation grew more dire by the second: they were surrounded, outnumbered, they had lost precious time and someone - or something - was not only watching them, but had somehow managed to speak directly to their minds.

"We have to leave. Now". Legolas' voice was calm, but his blue eyes betrayed his terror.

Maeloth nodded, just to have her body move a bit and shake off that helpless paralysis. She willed her sweaty palms to tighten on the grip of her sword and looked around, feigning more courage than she actually felt.

Orcs were flowing out the northern and southern edges of the wall, like a black tide splashing against its rock curves. The loudest of the sounds seemed to come from directly behind them, from the other side of the wall, which meant that soon the Orcs would make their way through the very tunnel the Elves stood in front of. By the looks of it, they didn't have more than two minutes before the first enemies reached them. If they wanted to get out of there alive, they would have to act fast.

Inevitably, Maeloth's gaze turned to the forest. There were more enemies waiting for them among the trees, but they were still obscured by more than enough trunks and did not seem to move as fast as the other Orc units. The forest was probably their best chance for escape - and, apparently, their only one. She reached that conclusion at the time same time that Legolas pointed his sword to the mass of dark trees and shouted: "To the Forest! Follow me!" He broke to a run, the rest of his group following him barely a heartbeat later.

They pelted towards the forest, feet almost not touching the grass in their haste, and dove into the shadows of the branches. Over the tops of the trees the sunlight was fading quickly but, under the leafy roof, night had already fallen. Still, even in this near-absolute darkness, the Elves could discern the faint glint of eyes and blades straight ahead, approaching steadily for what would soon be a head-on clash.

"This way!" Legolas shouted and turned to his right. They headed north-west, never slowing down, trying to keep the fortress to their right and the Orcs in the forest to their left. The Elves quickly caught on their prince's plan to swerve past the enemies that lurked in the forest, while simultaneously putting as much distance between them and Bald Hill as possible. They hoped to maneuver their way between the two approaching bodies of Orc forces but, if they weren't fast enough, they would soon be flanked from both sides. They knew they were trapped between hammer and anvil, and their only chance lay in being fast enough to slip away before the former hit the latter.

Noises were growing louder around them and a quick glance over her shoulder told Maeloth that they had started running just in time, if not a bit too late: the Orcs from the fortress had just gotten past the treeline and were swarming the east side of the forest. The tide was closing in.

There was still an opening up ahead of them, but it was growing smaller with each passing second. Maeloth cursed under her breath and urged her body to run faster. The sound of her own frantic pulse and sharp breathing prevailed in her ears. Her exhales turned to gasps, but there was no alternative other than work through the pain in her chest and sides. If she fell even a step behind, that would be it: she would be swarmed and torn to pieces before managing to so much as blink, and fighting all of these enemies was out of the question.

She had to make it back. Back home. Back to Belegorn. She had to make it back, so she kept running even though each breath was shredding her lungs apart.

They could not turn to the east, because Orcs were covering every inch of space between them and Bald Hill, and the opening ahead was closing rapidly; way too rapidly. She avoided low-hanging branches in the width of a breath, eyes glued to the backs of her companions and that small, promising patch of space among the trees.

Taunting shrieks pierced the darkness. Blades glinted up ahead and to the left. The forest unit had almost caught up and was seconds away from closing off their only way out of there. Their shrill voices were screaming at the Elves; the first black arrows sliced the air.

"Swords!" Legolas bellowed, his clear voice echoing over the mess of shrieking and clanking. "Keep running! Do not let them stop you!"

The first enemies leaped in front of them, tongues hanging out of their mocking half-smiles and a thirsty gleam in their eyes. Their crude blades clashed with the elven ones.

Maeloth clenched sword and teeth and prepared to fight her way through. She had time to see a sneering face with rotting teeth before she cut off the head of the first Orc that got in her way; she jumped over its body before it touched the ground. She tackled her way through, slicing any spot of skin that happened to enter her line of vision, trying by all means to keep up to her companions. She shoved her blade into tender flesh one, two, three times before she stopped counting and started reacting instinctively.

Just as she had found out during her first real battle, all other thoughts and feelings abandoned her for the sake of one overwhelming drive: staying alive. Second came her prince's order: keep running. Stay alive and keep running. The rest did not matter.

It barely registered as she ducked to avoid blades and kicked shields and sliced her way through the thickening mass of Orc soldiers. She could faintly hear voices shout orders in elvish and tried to follow their direction, relying on her ears because she did not dare avert her gaze from the blades that danced in front of her.

So far it seemed that they were managing to clear a path through the enemies, but they had slowed down considerably. At this rate, the main force would catch up to them very soon.

"Keep running! Keep running!", Legolas kept shouting until his voice got muffled by the distance and the racket of battle.

A spear barely missed Maeloth - she felt it graze her arm - and she cut in half the shriek of the Orc that wielded it. The blood in her hands was hot and slick, making it hard to maintain her grip on her sword.

She lifted her gaze only when she heard Feredir's voice resonate with a triumphant note. "Hurry! We almost made it!" She spotted open space ahead, past the last few lines of enemies; Legolas had already made it past the flood of Orcs and was firing his arrows to assist those of his companions that were still locked in combat.

Excitement and hope doused the protests of her body as she tackled the two Orcs that stood between her and her route of escape. The rest of their group was already darting behind their prince; Maeloth had just made to follow them when Morfindir slipped into her line of vision, still fighting the last line of resistance. She staggered to a stop, hesitating for barely a second before turning back to help him.

The moment she turned around, she froze in terror. Morfindir did not need her help after all - he had finished off the Orcs that were trying to stop him and was already running after his group. It was what came behind him that made Maeloth's heart drop to her feet, drowning all of her previous excitement.

The Orcs that had remained weren't much of a threat, and their main force was still obscured by the trees, but spiders were coming dashing through the darkness like a flood coursing through the foliage. She did not try to estimate their numbers; she only knew that they covered every visible spot and were making their way fast, jumping across the branches or flowing in streams on the ground.

A shout reached her ears: a single word, so distorted by panic that she couldn't tell which one of her companions had uttered it.

"RUN!"

Maeloth did not know that it was possible for her to run faster than she already had, but terror gave wings to her feet. She felt as if her legs would snap with the force of her strides, but she did not even dare think of slowing down. Trees became blurry shadows in the corners of her eyes, but she found the golden gleam of Legolas' hair and fixed her gaze on it, following his every move and trusting him to lead them correctly after she lost all sense of direction. Not that it mattered much; as long as the mass of enemies was behind them, their route was the correct one.

The clicking of claws was too loud in her ears. She wanted to attempt a glance behind, just to make sure that she was not at imminent risk of being grabbed by a pincer, or that all of her companions were still alive and running - she had heard no screams of pain, no cries for help, but  _still_  - but she did not dare to. Thankfully, every now and then her companions swam in and out of focus as they dashed along, and it was something of a relief when she heard Morfindir urging them to run faster, his voice coming from somewhere behind her - he was still there,  _still there_ , he was not left behind, thank Eru, thank Eru-

Dread choked her every time she thought that he was the one left further behind, thus the one closer to the deadly swarm, but she could not bring herself to risk a glance. What would she do if she turned around and, suddenly, he was nowhere to be seen? Would she panic, stumble, rush to help - die? She could not afford to, she could not die - not here, not now - so she prayed and hoped and kept running, and she combed the sounds that reached her ears to distinguish his voice, his shallow breaths, his grunts; any sign that he was still alive.

The distinct scent of ash reached her nostrils, causing her terror to mount to a peak. Legolas was leading them back the way they came from, back through her old, burnt-down village. If they kept going that way, she would soon be back to that ashen clearing and heavens knew that she did not need that now. She did not want to set foot there again, not even when being chased by an entire army of Orcs and spiders; however, there no alternative, so she took a deep breath, as if preparing to dive underwater, and broke out of the safety of the trees and into the dreaded clearing.

With the next breath, the rotten, ash-laden air of the area invaded her lungs; a deep, pained grunt of resignation and powerlessness echoed from the depths of her throat.

They raced past the skeletons of buildings that stood like sentinels in the darkness. No stars shone overhead to lend a glimmer of beauty to this gruesome graveyard, and the burnt corpses looked even more nightmarish under the meager moonlight.

Maeloth bit down hard on her lip, adding another sharp pain to the numerous ones of her body to keep herself in line. "Run", she whispered the command to herself through her panting, forbidding herself another display of weakness, swallowing back down all feelings and locking them in firm denial. Feelings had no place in such a moment. The ash did not matter - the smell, the houses, the bodies did not matter. What mattered was running fast enough to survive. Leaving everything behind.

She would run out of this place once more, like so many nights ago, when she held tight on Belegorn's hand and did not look back. She would run away, this time forever. This time the trees wouldn't dare to sing a requiem for her, because she was not meant to rest under this ash. She was meant to run and fight and live; and let the dead remain with the dead.

"This way!" she shouted with an authority she didn't know she possessed and turned sharply to her right, towards the north, her sense of direction returning with the memory of Belegorn dragging her along the very same path.

A quick glance confirmed that her companions had heard her and were following her - thankfully, all six of them. They crossed the ash-covered stretch of land, running as fast as arrows flying straight to the north edge of the woods. The spiders kept at the chase, raising a cloud of ash in their wake; one last glance before diving back into the trees showed Maeloth her homeland being swallowed by the black wave of hairy beasts.

Once in the dark embrace of the trees, she did not look back again. She led her companions north, needing no stars to confirm their direction. She might have had no memories of her village or of life before the attack, but everything after it was imprinted on her mind in extreme acuteness.

The oak was silent, the elk stood seething and the birch seemed wilted, but she knew she was on the right path. Whatever trails had once marked these grounds seemed to twist and turn in all the wrong ways, but she followed none of them. She followed the Belegorn of her mind's eye, almost seeing him in front of her. Her companions panted along, every now and then leaving confused gasps as Maeloth skipped obvious turns of the path, leading them through untrodden parts of the woods.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Ninrieth shouted as they jumped over a small gorge.

"Yes!" Maeloth yelled back.

She could not stop to explain, but she hoped her certainty would be enough to reassure them. The woods were hostile and changed - they had acknowledged that before - but there were still familiar details for her to follow, small things that she recognized with little pangs of triumph. A twisted trunk, a mushroom-infested fallen log, a weirdly-shaped rock or a thin stream snaking over the dead leaves lit spark after spark of hope and renewed her courage. She remembered everything clearly; she could tell when they crossed the spot where Belegorn had collapsed, or the tree against which she had leaned to catch her breath.

The spiders kept clicking their claws and snapping branches as they made their way through the forest. Respite for the Elves was out of the question and Maeloth hoped against hope that their enemies would give up before her group ended up collapsing. She had lost track of time and even fatigue had stopped being an indication of how long they were running.

The only positive sign was that the norther they trod, the weaker the sounds of pursuit grew. It seemed that the Orcs had given up the chase long ago and some spiders had just started doing so, one by one. Nevertheless, there were still enough that persisted, leaving the Elves with no option but to keep going.

"Wait!" Morfindir shouted at some point, startling them all to a staggering halt. He was looking around with recognition lighting up his tired features. "I know this place - I used to be in charge of patrols in this area!"

The moment Maeloth stopped moving, her head rushed in nauseating dizziness and pain shot through every inch of her body. She leaned against a tree as her companions moved around hastily, scanning their surroundings.

"That's right", she heard Legolas say. "There is an outpost, not far from here".

"It's that way!" Ninrieth cried out with as much enthusiasm as she could muster among the pained gasps that made up her breathing.

"We are close", Berior's deep voice rumbled with evident relief.

"Let's move! Hurry!" Legolas' command rang loud, voice invigorated by hope.

"Come on", Morfindir tugged at Maeloth's arm softly, managing an encouraging smile through his shallow breaths. She let him pry her from the solidity of the tree and forced her legs to start moving again. She resumed her running, earning sharp pains with each step.

Legolas had taken the lead and was shouting encouragements as often as his own heaving allowed him to.

"How much further, captain?" Maeloth breathed as she jogged next to Morfindir.

"A couple of miles, I think".

A great, creaking sound told them that a tree had fallen somewhere close; probably a victim of the brutal passage of the spiders. The group's jog sped up to a run again, but their delay had been more than enough for the monstrous wave to catch up.

The darkness around them stirred. Thick, sticky threads shot towards the Elves' feet, fortunately missing them and sticking on tree trunks and grass blades instead.

Maeloth did not need her prince's prompt to run faster. She could hear guttural insults and the loud clicking of claws coming from a few feet behind her. A thread missed her by mere inches, causing her to cry out in alarm.

"Gaelion!" Feredir roared to their companion. Both men were in front of Maeloth, running as fast as they could; Feredir was gesturing to his right. Without hesitation, Gaelion broke out of the group and followed him.

"We'll try to divert them - keep going!" Feredir yelled as an answer to the bewildered looks of the rest. Before Maeloth could manage more than a disbelieving glance, they were gone, all the while shouting to catch the attention of the spiders.

"Don't slow down!" Morfindir shouted, placing his hand firmly on Maeloth's back and pushing her forward. "Go, go!"

It was a miracle that she did not stumble from exhaustion, or that her feet did not catch on a treacherous root or a stray spider thread. The air was full of noises all of a sudden, the yells of her companions mixing with the spiders' curses and the ear-grazing sound of snapping branches. She did not know whether Gaelion and Feredir had succeeded in distracting even a few spiders, but there were still more than enough at their heels.

She heard an arrow's hiss in the air and a shriek indicating that it found its mark. Somebody from her group was firing arrows one after the other and Maeloth could not help but wonder how they managed to do so while still running. She was clutching at her sword, but all of her focus was on the three miles that stood between them and the elven outpost.

A panicked yell pierced Maeloth's brain. In the cries of pain that followed, she recognized the warm hues of Morfindir's voice. Her heart missed a beat at the sound and she found herself doing what she was unable to before: she turned around, stomach lurching in sickening agitation, desperate to catch a glimpse of her captain still alive and running, despite the screams that were definitely his.

Morfindir had fallen to the ground with a spider pincer biting into his right leg; he was crying out in pain and was struggling to fight from his hindered position, swinging his sword with one hand and clawing the ground with the other. The spider that had managed to catch him was the leading one but more were coming, flinging their sticky threads around.

She knew she should keep running. She knew she should, because the outpost was so close and she could make it. She knew she should keep herself safe so that she could return home to Belegorn, and keep fighting to bring down those Orcs, just as she had promised herself at the fortress. She knew all that - and yet, it did not take more than a second and a breathless curse for Maeloth to make up her mind and rush to his side.

She lifted her sword and sank it in the spider's eight-eyed face with all the momentum from her run. Blood sprayed her when she pulled her sword out with a strained grunt and she kicked the beast straight in the bleeding wound, pushing it away from her captain. Morfindir freed himself from the pincers' grip once they went limp and tried to scramble on his feet. Maeloth slung an arm around his shoulders and yanked him up, not thinking twice about it, wanting only to take him out of there as fast as possible. She all but dragged him and he cried out again - she caught a glimpse of blood flowing down his leg - but she did not stop nor made her movements more gentle.

Running was not an option for Morfindir. He tried to at least walk but, every time he put his right leg on the ground, he hissed in pain and trembled all over. His injured limb threatened to give in with each step. Maeloth tried to support as much of his weight as possible and guide him away from the nearing stomping sounds, while searching with her eyes for her companions. For one mad moment she thought they had abandoned them and kept on running, but then she saw Ninrieth and Berior dashing towards them with their long curved blades in their hands. Behind them, she spotted Legolas perched on a branch, firing arrows as fast as blinking.

Berior was headed towards her, to assist her with carrying Morfindir. Despite the wave of gratitude that rose in her, Maeloth shook her head impatiently and shouted: "I've got him! Hold back the spiders!"

She saw him give her a curt nod before sprinting past her, his focus shifting to the oncoming mass of enemies.

Maeloth hauled Morfindir along, not stopping for a second, not even when he started protesting in-between pained grunts.

""Stop- Stop! Leave me and run- just- run!" he was rambling as he limped next to her. Behind them, shrieks and clangs of claws had arisen; Legolas' arrows kept whizzing over their heads.

Maeloth did not bother to answer Morfindir, as all her breath was going in her struggle to carry him down the path. She was not going to leave him behind anyway, no matter how noble he wanted to act and no matter how much he protested. She hoped that the look on her face would be enough to convey this and make him shut up and be cooperative, but it achieved the exact opposite. Her captain dug his good foot on the ground, effectively stopping their procession, and said firmly:

"I command you to leave me! I am a hindrance and a liability for the mission, and I will not allow myself to put you all in danger, so I demand that-"

His sentence was cut in half as Maeloth heaved him, sheer annoyance giving her strength, and resumed their hobbling in a fast enough pace to make Morfindir repeatedly cry out in pain instead of talking. Her own body was trembling with the strain, but she was beyond caring at this point. She knew that the outpost was close, so it would all take one big final struggle, one last gritting of teeth and then they would all be safe. They were at the end of the road; she had not made it this far to give up now.

She craned her neck to take a look at the fight that was going on behind them. Berior was cutting down spider legs in a swirl of green garments and deep brown hair, slipping between deadly pincers with the elegance of a leaf in the wind despite his well-built physique. There were no more than ten spiders left now; the rest of the swarm were dead or had abandoned the chase, either to run behind Feredir and Gaelion or to go back to Amon Lanc before they tread too deep into elven grounds.

Just as Maeloth was looking, Ninrieth appeared from between the branches and dived down to the rapidly-diminishing swarm of enemies; she barely managed to catch the glint of her sword before it was plunged into a beast's hairy back.

"Maeloth, take Morfindir and go!" Legolas' voice reached her before the prince himself jumped down from the tree he had climbed on. He had already drown his long knives and broke to a run, shouting: "We've got the spiders! You go!"

She left them to fight and went on, reassured in spite of the horrible screeching sounds and clangs that filled the air. Thankfully, Morfindir had ceased his protests and was trying to move faster, keeping his right foot of the earth and relying solely on his left one and on Maeloth to maintain his balance.

She was keeping her eyes fixed on the north, repeating four words over and over in her head:  _we are almost there, we are almost there, we are almost there..._

She did not know if it was the Forest or her vision that was growing darker, but she found she had to blink several times to discern the tree trunks around them. Everything seemed to fade away in blackness, dissolving and taking shape again in-between blinks. The pain in her lungs was piercing. She could hear her breath hitch more often than she would like.

She held on to Morfindir's solid and warm form, both to make sure that he would not slip from her numbing fingers and to keep the assurance of material reality in a world that was growing blurry and distant. She was under the impression that he was saying something again, but she could not make out what because his voice was fading in and out - just the way the whole world was.

She gathered a few sharp breaths in order to utter two words. "Lead me".

Fortunately, her voice sounded clear enough for her captain to understand. He tugged her to the right as he murmured something that she could not really hear. She supposed he was trying to encourage her, perhaps saying the very same thing that she kept repeating in her head.  _We are almost there._ His breath was burning her ear.

She kept her eyes tightly shut to fight the dizziness that tried to overtake her, relying on Morfindir's slight pull towards certain directions to take them to the outpost. It was hard to say who was supporting whom at that point. At least, it was something of a consolation that both were on their feet and still conscious, unlike the last time that Maeloth had been in a similar situation.

She opened her eyes when Morfindir shook her violently, shouting something indistinct. She looked around blindly until her vision cleared enough for her to spot a tall wall through the trees. The sound of horns pierced the air, loud and high-pitched enough for her to hear.

She managed to make out what Morfindir was saying. "This is the outpost! We made it, Maeloth!"

Ten minutes later she was sitting on a chair next to a roaring fire, the cup in her hands emitting a strong scent of herbs and spices. An elf was trying to wrap her in a woolen blanket while shouting instructions to someone behind his back.

There was a lot of shuffling and scurrying around, but Maeloth could see none of the Elves that surrounded her. Her vision was still blurry from exhaustion, so she had sat back in her chair with her eyes closed, breathing in the restorative fragrance of the contents of her cup instead of actually drinking them. Under the strong heat of the fire she started drifting in and out of consciousness, tiptoeing on the verge of sleep even though she was anguishing over her companions. She knew that Morfindir was in a nearby room getting his wound looked after, but she hadn't heard from the rest yet.

She jumped out of her restless half-sleep when a hand touched her on the shoulder, accompanied by a hesitant voice.

"My lady?"

An Elf soldier she did not recognize was leaning over her, seemingly unsure whether to wake her up or not. When she blinked at him, he gave her a small smile.

"You'll be glad to hear that your companions are all alive and well. We have sent a force to help Gaelion and Feredir with the remaining spiders, and Prince Legolas and the rest are on their way".

It took a few seconds for the information to sink in her groggy mind. When it registered, her whole body relaxed, her form melting into the cushions of her chair. She let out a long exhale, drawn from the depths of her strained lungs, and allowed her head to lean back and her eyes to close.

They had made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... This update took long enough. I blame it on multiple job interviews and settling in a new job and stuff (yeah... life happened again). Plus, this chapter was a nightmare to write, because I've been on and off it for, what, two months now? Now that it's finally done, I can sigh in relief and go on (the things I've planned for the next chapters are soooo good, I'm super excited!)
> 
> As always, reviews are much appreciated!


	15. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter took long enough to post, but I went through a mini writer's block... I think I sabotaged myself, actually. I am so excited for what is to come in the next two chapters that I had trouble going through this one. I struggled a lot and had to throw away many drafts, but I didn't want to just skip it. And then I just woke up yesterday and it just flowed out of me so naturally... Took long enough, but at least now it feels right.
> 
> Okay then, sorry for the wait and here's chapter 15! It's time to chill a bit after the craziness of the last chapters.
> 
> And I want to thank everyone who has reviewed so far - I love reading your comments! So, how about a few more? :D

She was awakened by the sound of wood scrapping the floor, followed by a pained sigh and the creaking of a chair. She opened her eyes to Morfindir sitting across from her, smiling despite his haggard looks. He was holding a steaming cup, too - Maeloth noted that, miraculously, she had held on to her own cup even in her sleep.

"Hey", he said when he saw her stir. His voice was hoarse and low, issuing from an overtly strained throat and even more strained lungs.

"Hey", she greeted him back and was not surprised to find her own voice grating her throat. She sat up straighter in her chair and rubbed her eyes with her free hand. The weak light of early morning was flickering in through the high windows that lined the wall behind her captain.

"How do you feel?" he asked her, somehow managing to make his voice sound soft despite the gruff whispering.

She stretched her body but the small movement reminded her of the numerous pains that were scattered all over it. Her back and waist throbbed in pain from carrying Morfindir, her lungs felt raw and her hands were trembling as she clutched her mug.

"I'm fine", she replied at length. "Nothing too grave".

Her captain winced in pain as he settled more comfortably in his chair, stretching out his wounded leg in front of him. A bit of blood had seeped through the bandages that wrapped his right calf, but the heavy bleeding seemed to have been staunched. Maeloth stared at him in silence, deeply troubled by the pallor of his skin - which was brought out even more by the contrast with his black hair.

Her look did not escape Morfindir. Under her gaze his expression changed, pained lines relaxing into something softer and warm.

"Don't worry, it's not as bad as it looks. I'll be up and about in two days".

Her brow creased in disbelief. "Two days?"

"Our healers are very competent", he said and sipped at the contents of his mug.

She did not reply to that. He was trying to reassure her, of course, but she did not think this was a matter to be taken lightly. She had seen what these spider claws could do; she had seen Arphenion torn apart by them. She did not want to consider what would have happened if she had been a few seconds late to help Morfindir out of the spider's grip. The thought that he might not even be there, sitting across from her, made her feel positively sick.

"Maeloth", he said and leaned forward to gently pat her hand. "Relax. It's over now".

"No, it's not", she said before she could stop herself, her mind rushing back to the slopes of Amon Lanc with surprising readiness. "Nothing is over. You are hurt, and there's still an army of Orcs and spiders at our doorstep, along with whomever that voice belonged to, and-"

"Hey, hey, calm down!" he cut across her in a rushed whisper, his hand tightening over hers in warning. He looked around to make sure that nobody was near before turning back to her to look her in the eye. "Don't speak of these things out loud - not yet, and certainly not here. What we saw is restricted information until the King orders otherwise". Then he sighed and the commanding edge seeped out of his tone. His grip on her hand relaxed and he went on, much softer this time. "Perhaps I should have said  _'it's over for now'_. I know we'll have to fight again, I know it's far from being really over, but... For now we can rest, and we can breathe freely. You deserve it, after everything that happened".

His hand was warm over hers and she let her gaze drop to it, if only to give herself something else to focus on instead. Still, it did not do much to block the image of the Old Fortress brimming with Orcs and other, more sinister creatures. "How can you be so calm?" she asked, exasperated.

"One cannot dwell forever in darkness. You should not only focus on the negative side of things, or on what went wrong. Think a bit of what we achieved. Think of what this means. Celebrate the fact that we made it, that we are here, and that we'll be home soon".

Her heart ached at the thought of returning home. She wanted to go back so badly. She wanted to see the King and finally work out some answers, but she also wanted to see Belegorn. She had to see him and make amends. Morfindir was not the only one who had narrowly escaped death - they all had. She could not bear the thought that she might never return, that she would have left her brother all alone, her last words to him being that he was inadequate.

True, she had tried to say goodbye before she left, but that did not really count. She wanted to apologize. And - even if that was a bit paranoid - she wanted to make sure that he was safe. She would easily bet that he would still be sulking on his chair by the window but, after what she had seen and heard, she could not help worrying. If they were dealing with something that can speak directly to an Elf's head, walls were no longer to be trusted.

"I, umm... I also wanted to thank you".

Morfindir's voice cut her out of her musings. She lifted her gaze to see that he was smiling at her, even though he still looked frighteningly pale. His face was too close to hers and she realized with a start that his hand was still cupping hers over her grasp at her mug.

"What for?" she asked, discreetly pulling away in order to put a more appropriate distance between them.

"For everything. For everything you did before. I can't thank you enough for what you did. I... I am in your debt".

Maeloth shied away from the overwhelming gratitude of Morfindir's eyes and murmured, "Don't be absurd, captain. I owe you so much you could never be in my debt".

He shook his head. "I wouldn't be sitting here if it weren't for your courage and determination".

"You're exaggerating. If I hadn't come, Ninrieth or Berior or even the prince would've".

"But they didn't.  _You_ did", he insisted.

His smile was different now. It was still genuine but also somewhat strained, as if he was holding back some other, more intense emotion.

Maeloth lowered her own gaze, unable to say the next words while still looking him in the eye, and said in a small voice, "There was never an option of leaving you behind".

Silence fell after that, during which Maeloth couldn't help but replay in her head the last hours of the chase: the maddening anxiousness that built up when she couldn't hear Morfindir's voice behind her, her dread when she saw him under that spider's pincers, the agonizing walk to the outpost... Her skin crawled at the remembrance and her body still hurt from the strain, but she knew her words were true. She would do it all over right then and there, if she had to.

"Why?"

Morfindir's question was so softly spoken and so unexpected that she looked up.

"Because you are my captain. And I already told you, I am in your debt. You saved my life before, so... It seemed only fair that I do so, too", she replied, even as something in her chest tightened as she said those words. She could tell that something was missing from her answer, but that was all she could say for now. She was too tired to contemplate all of the feelings that had rushed through her in the last hours.

Still, a certain image crept up from the mayhem of noise, terror and pain that made up her memories of the run to the outpost - or rather, a certain feeling: that of Morfindir's weight against her, their hands clutching at one another while his voice kept soothing and encouraging her. She smiled, despite the pain that accompanied that memory - the pain she still felt in her back - and she lifted her mug to her lips in order to hide her expression.

The beverage had gone cold, but it was surprisingly refreshing and washed away a bit of the lingering pain. When she lowered her mug after several sips, she noted that Morfindir was staring her with a most curious expression on his face. Something hard to decipher was stirring in his eyes.

"Oh come on, captain", she said with a chuckle to break the silence. "Don't look so stunned. I did what every soldier would do".

"I should have known", he said in a low voice, almost like speaking to himself.

"Known what?"

"Remember the night I found you and your brother in the forest?"

She pressed her lips in a tight line. "Yes".

"Since then, I've kept wondering... How can a person do what you did? You were beyond exhausted when I found you and yet you still kept going. I could not fathom such pure determination. Back then I attributed it to shock, but I see now. You have a will stronger than steel. You are not the strongest or the fastest soldier, but you managed to do something like  _that_  twice, just with the force of your will. It's... remarkable. You carried your brother back then, and you almost carried me now, disregarding your own safety and fatigue-"

"Yeah, I do have a tendency to end up in such situations, don't I?" she joked, if only to stop him from going on. Her heart sure did swell at the praise, but she preferred anguishing over the Orcs of Amon Lanc than reminiscing about  _that_ _night_ , even if it was in the form of a praise.

Morfindir laughed quietly, but he seemed to get her discomfort for he said, "I'm sorry for bringing it up now. I guess all I wanted to say is... You are amazing".

"Oh", she started, completely taken aback by his remark.

Suddenly she could feel her face burning. She wanted to thank him, but that seemed like an awfully stupid reaction. She supposed she could say something nice in return, but no words came out of her throat. She could not shake off the feeling that, if she reciprocated, it would sound too much like... flirting, and she had no idea if such a thing was even allowed between a commanding officer and their subordinate. She made a note in her mind to ask Eglerion about this once she was back home, and then realization hit her like a wave that almost made her drop her mug.

She was wondering whether she was  _allowed_  to flirt with Morfindir, when she had never before seriously considered him being anything more than her captain. She did care about him and she enjoyed his company - and the way he was smiling at her at the moment was very, very charming - but... this was crazy. They had much more serious things to worry about. Plus, there were bound to be some rules, or etiquette, or anything concerning officers and soldiers.

Oh, Eglerion would surely die of glee once she asked him about this. She resisted the urge to sigh at the thought and tried to put up a nonchalant smile.

"You are exaggerating again", she said, hoping the burning in her cheeks would abate before giving her away. "I told you, if I hadn't come to help you, someone else would have-"

"That's not the only thing you did", he pressed on, still smiling in a way that did nothing to lessen the flush in Maeloth's face. "You fought bravely, and you led us through the forest when they were chasing us-"

"You have Belegorn to thank for that, too", she said modestly. When Morfindir furrowed his brows in wonder, she explained. "It was he who had led me through that part of the forest...  _that_  night. I simply followed the route he had taken".

Morfindir blinked and sobered up rather abruptly, the charming smile disappearing from his lips. "Oh... If that is the case, make sure to pass him my thanks. I would express my gratitude myself, but I get the feeling that he doesn't like me".

She shuffled awkwardly as she remembered their last encounter. Morfindir did not know what had been said after he left, but that did not stop her from feeling guilt scratching at her gut. But Morfindir need not know about it. She would make amends after she went back, anyway.

"I know he can seem a bit...  _cold_  at times", she said, knowing that this characterization was an understatement, "but he's been through a lot and he hasn't quite adapted yet. He needs some more time".

Morfindir shrugged and simply said, "Perhaps. After all, you know him better than I do".

A sudden thought crossed her mind and she turned her gaze to the tall windows. Outside, the light grew stronger, even if dull and grayish. She could discern clouds stretching across the sky, blocking out the light of the morning sun.

In the thick shadows of the Forest she had lost track of time. It was morning now, but she had no idea the morning of which day it was.

"Captain...?"

Morfindir lifted his eyes from his mug. She took this as her cue to continue with her question. "How many days have passed? I mean... Since the beginning of the mission".

He tried to sit in a more comfortable position but, as soon as he moved his leg, he hissed in pain and decided against it. In the end, he sighed tiredly.

"Under the branches of the trees the darkness has deepened a lot, hasn't it? So much that it's hard to tell the passage of day. I had to ask, too. It seems that this is the morning of the fourth day since out departure".

She gasped before exclaiming, "We've been gone for three days and three nights?"

Morfindir nodded slowly. Then he must have noticed her distress on her face, because he said, "Does this seem like a lot to you?"

"Well... Yes. I-" she stammered, looking at the windows again and the patch of sky that was visible through them. "I completely lost the track of day and night. I thought we were gone... for a day, or perhaps two". She gulped. She had left Belegorn alone for three whole days; that was the longest since they had arrived in the capital.

"It's not that much, if you think about it", Morfindir said. "We expected to be gone for much longer. I guess we covered great distance very fast during that last day".

"Still, it's... too long".

A minute ticked away in silence before he asked her in a low, hesitant voice, "Is everything alright?"

She shook her head. "I have left some unfinished business back home".

"With... your brother?"

This time she nodded slowly. A sudden sadness gripped at her throat and her voice came out even hoarser than it already had been. "I know you told me to settle things before I left and I know I should have. I should have because, if something had gone wrong in that mission..." She left her sentence hovering unfinished before she huffed and whispered, "I was awful to him".

"Don't say that-"

"I was", she insisted. "I have to find a way to apologize". She looked at her captain, hoping for some of the advice he was so good at giving, or at least some encouragement, but he seemed to have lost his appetite for conversation. Without his smile to light up his features, he was back to looking terribly worn out and pale.

"I'm sure he will forgive you", he said absently, without looking at her anymore, and focused on emptying his mug.

"I guess so..." she murmured, stirring the contents of her own mug.

She could not put her finger on the reason, but she felt extremely uncomfortable talking about Belegorn when a minute ago she was considering flirting with Morfindir. She was the one who had brought him up, but now it made her feel incredibly guilty. Not only because of the things she had shouted in her brother's face - things that had been true, but  _still_. It made her feel guilty because it felt like she was cheating.

And the worst part was, she had no idea whom it felt like she was cheating on.

After that, silence fell between them, her captain's spirits now evidently dampened. Around them the outpost was bustling with life, footsteps echoing non-stop on the staircases and on the floor above their heads, but Morfindir and Maeloth's corner remained purposely undisturbed. Soldiers were hurrying around, talking animatedly or carrying weapons and equipment, but they always kept their distance from the two figures next to the fireplace, undoubtedly wanting to grant them some well-earned minutes of peace. Maeloth was grateful for that, but after the silence between them had started getting awkward, she wished for a distraction.

Thankfully, it came not long after, in the form of the sound of horns and numerous feet hurrying down the stairs.

She set down her now empty mug and turned to Morfindir. "I dare say the prince is back", she said.

He nodded and a small, content smile tugged at his lips. "Let's go and welcome them".

"Oh no, captain", she said sternly as she sprang to her feet. "You stay here and rest your leg. I'll go".

"I thought I was the one giving the orders", he said, his smile widening and a playful spark returning to his eyes.

Thankful for the change in the mood, she decided to tease him back a bit, so she feigned an austere expression. "You are, but you are also stubborn enough to hurt your leg all over again before admitting you're in pain".

"Who says I'm stubborn?" he protested.

She lifted one condescending eyebrow. "May I remind you your insistence that I leave you behind?"

"That was not stubbornness, that was-"

"Annoying, that's what it was". She felt she might be pushing it a bit, even though she was smiling and was obviously joking, but she preferred that over sinking back into silence.

Morfindir pouted. "I was going for  _'noble'_ ".

"Well, next time, less nobility and more helping, if you please".

Morfindir laughed with deep, quiet chuckles, and the sound was pleasant and beautiful despite the gruffness that lingered in his throat. Maeloth found herself laughing, too, even though doing so hurt, until Morfindir spoke again.

"All right, how about a compromise? You will help me walk and we'll go down together and welcome our companions".

"So, I'll have to carry you again? My back will be grateful", she joked as she approached him and slung an arm around his shoulders.

"I'll be more helpful this time, I promise", he said.

She helped him stand without stepping on his injured leg, having to hold back a grunt of pain herself. Her back protested when some of his weight settled on her, but it was quickly forgotten as he snaked an arm around her waist to better support himself. She hoped he did not notice the hitch in her breath and tried to calm her racing heart. It would not do to turn all red in the face again, not when they were about to meet the prince and the rest of their companions.

She helped him hobble out of the room and down a narrow staircase, trying not to focus too much on the way his muscular body felt against hers. She mentally slapped herself for even noticing such a thing and tried to think of something - anything - else. She ended up thinking that Eglerion would tease until the end of time once she recounted this scene to him. It was something of a relief when they reached the gates because that meant she could focus on something else, even if that meant dealing with their companions' wounds or talking about Orcs.

Legolas, Ninrieth and Berior were the ones that were back. They were in the middle of a group of Elf soldiers, having flasks and clean towels handed to them as the prince was giving out instructions. Maeloth helped Morfindir take the last few steps towards them before her captain untangled himself from her.

They all greeted each other with big, even if tired, smiles and hearty hugs. None of them seemed to have earned grave injuries - nothing apart a few nicks and gashes - but they were half-covered in blood and their tunics were torn in several places.

Ninrieth raised a filthy hand to push a few strands of equally filthy hair out of her eyes before saying, "What about Gaelion and Feredir?"

"They'll be here soon, my lady", a soldier replied. "They are escorted here as we speak, we just got word from our lookouts".

They all moved inside, Maeloth accepting Morfindir's arm around her shoulders once more, and went back to the same room with the fireplace. They huddled around the fire as a few soldiers brought mugs with freshly-made brews for the prince and his companions.

It did not take long for Gaelion and Feredir to arrive. When they walked in the room, they shocked everyone with how worn out and pale they looked, but they put everyone at ease with big smiles and joyous greetings.

"Those spiders were a pain to take care of", Gaelion sighed as he collapsed on the chair that Berior offered him.

"Yeah..." Feredir agreed with a tired huff, sitting down, too.

"Did you kill them all?" Ninrieth asked.

"Yes, with a bit of help", Feredir indicated the Elves that surrounded them.

"Did you end up far?" Legolas inquired.

"Not much. We made a turn for the outpost once we managed to lure them away from you, but we had to run fast", Feredir said, rubbing his eyes. "I hope they have some spare horses in this outpost, because I don't want to walk again for the next thousand years or so".

They accepted steaming mugs, too, and wrapped themselves tightly in blankets. For a long while they all drank, too tired to talk more, until Feredir yawned and stretched on his chair.

"Well... Shall we go get those horses and leave? I'd like to be back home by nightfall. Not that this outpost is not cozy..." he added, gesturing to the bare rock walls and the lines of weapons across the room, "but I'd like a warm bath and some wine".

Ninrieth chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "Me too. I'll go and tell them to prepare the horses".

Legolas left, too, to discuss a few last things with the outpost's commander while the rest of his group emptied their mugs and got ready for the journey back home. The elven capital was not too far away. With horses at their disposal, Feredir's wish for an arrival before nightfall would probably be fulfilled. They made their way to the courtyard, where seven horses were waiting for them. Five more Elves were added to their group as escorts before they were seen off by the outpost's soldiers.

There was a fairly wide and clear path leading from the outpost to the road and, from there, to the capital on the Black Mountains, so it was an easy trek for the horses. It should have been an equally relaxing part of the journey for their riders, too, but it was far from it. It was a cloudy day, with no sun rays peeking out to comfort them.

Prince Legolas had stressed to them not to speak about their mission until they were all before the King, so they all kept their mouths closed. That, in addition to having no energy left for any other kind of conversation, resulted in having nothing but their words for company for almost the entirety of the journey. It was not long before their mood turned as bleak as the sky that was visible between the branches. The glances they exchanged every now and then were knowing, but not comforting enough. When the silence became too heavy to bear, Ninrieth started to sing in a low voice. Her voice was not as clear not as confident as usual, but her song managed to ward off the grim feeling that had started settling in their hearts.

The day was fading from the sky when the Elvenking's palace came into view, sitting on top of the highest peak of the Black Mountains with a backdrop of grey clouds. At the sight of it, their spirits were uplifted. Light-hearted conversation sprouted between them, making the last miles somewhat more pleasant, until they abruptly fell silent and stretched their ears.

They could hear something approaching fast. After a few seconds, they made out the sound of hooves rolling down the path. They all tensed; hands flew at the hilts of swords and the grips of bows. However, when they heard the unmistakable, melodic voices of fellow Elves, they all relaxed again.

It took a minute for five riders to appear around a turn of the path, wearing the characteristic soldier attire of the Elves of Greenwood. Jolly voices rose to meet them as the newcomers sped up. Maeloth did not recognize the rest of these riders but, when she spotted golden-brown hair and a pair of bright, green eyes, she could not help the wide smile that formed on her lips. Eglerion saw her too and started waving at her enthusiastically.

The two groups met with delighted cries of greeting. After quickly greeting the prince, Eglerion led his horse straight to Maeloth, shouting, "You're back!"

He approached her enough to lean over his horse and reach her. Even while in an uncomfortable riding position, he managed to grapple her in a playful head-lock and started rubbing at the top of her head, murmuring, "You crazy girl, you crazy, stupid-"

"Ow, ow, ow", she protested as his fist rubbed so hard at her scalp that it burned. "Stop it, you bloody half-Elf-"

"Ooh!" Eglerion exclaimed as he released her. "Not even five minutes back and already hitting me where it hurts!" He feigned a hurt expression and brought his hand over his heart.

Maeloth laughed and bumped his shoulder with her fist. "It's good to see you".

"It's good to see you, too - in case you didn't gather that much".

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I volunteered to be your escort back!" Then he leaned closer and lowered his voice. "And I wanted to hear your news first-hand".

Maeloth quickly glanced around, but everybody's attention was on prince Legolas, who was conversing with the head of the escort party.

"So?" Eglerion prompted her impatiently. "Did anything interesting go down? Judging by your  _hideous_  looks, something must have".

"I'm not allowed to talk about it yet", she said and Eglerion's face fell in disappointment.

"Oh, come on! Just the gist of it!"

"I told you, I-"

"Please?" he said with his most convincing batting of eyelashes. Then his face grew more serious and he lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. "Back home, there's been a fuss about this mission. They're all anxious about your return".

He stopped talking when he noticed the group had started moving again. The soldiers from the outpost bid them farewell and left back the way they came, leaving the soldiers from the capital to escort the group home. They resumed their procession towards the Black Mountains with Legolas and another officer leading the way and the rest following along in a leisurely trot. Eglerion and Maeloth stayed last on purpose and kept their horses close enough to be able to continue their conversation in a whisper.

"I thought this mission was something of a secret", Maeloth frowned.

"Word got out. Everybody's crazy with worry, what with all that's going on. Oh, and..." Eglerion paused to chuckle and smile in his usual sly way. "Speaking of crazy... Guess who has been waiting for you by the gate ever since you left".

Maeloth felt something heavy fall like a rock in her chest. She looked at Eglerion, trying to read past the mischievous expression of his face. There could be only one answer, but it seemed highly improbable. Before she left, Belegorn hadn't moved for a  _week_ , doing his best to let her know that he was sulking.

_By the gate ever since they left..._

"You're kidding, right?" she asked, terrified.

"Nope. He's been by the front gate for four days and three nights. He has not moved nor talked to anyone. Frankly, it's a little unsettling".

As his words sank in, a queasy feeling of mixed guilt and anxiousness rose in her. "Oh shit", she breathed.

"Who's talking like a Man now?" Eglerion teased her, but she did not smile this time. This was no time for jokes.

"Four days?" she asked incredulously. " _Four days_? He didn't even want to look at me before I left!"

Eglerion shrugged. "I guess he changed his mind".

"Did you talk to him?"

"I tried to, but he didn't even bother to look at me. Don't take this the wrong way, but... your brother is kinda weird".

She huffed, turning her gaze to the slopes of the Black Mountains, where the first lights from the houses of the capital had just started glittering. "Why can't he do anything the normal way? If he wanted so much to talk to me, he could do so before I left. He didn't have to go to such lengths to make it look as if he doesn't give a damn about me".

"You know..." Eglerion sighed, his voice taking a more solemn tone, "I think he's genuinely sorry about that".

Maeloth pressed her lips together in a tight line, trying to resist the urge to order her horse to gallop faster. She wanted to return home before, but now she was downright impatient to. She wondered if it would be acceptable to excuse herself and ride as fast as her horse could carry her.

"You should talk to him when you get back", Eglerion told her quietly.

"I was planning to apologize anyway", she snapped.

"No, I mean... Talk to him. Not just about this, about everything. He's obviously not taking well to any of it".

"What am I supposed to say? He's not over what happened, I know that-"

"None of you is", Eglerion commented softly.

She huffed, nostrils flaring. "He needs time, that's all", she said for the second time that day.

"I'm sorry for meddling. I just... I see how it affects you". The look of concern he gave her was very different from the joyous, playful expression he normally bore.

She said nothing to that. Picturing her brother by the gate was all she could do for the moment. She had worried about how she was going to apologize before but, at the moment, doing so seemed even more daunting. What could she say after leaving him for four days like this? If he had been distressed enough to leave the haven of their room and go out there...

Guilt choked her. She didn't even have to imagine what he must have been thinking as he waited. She already knew, because he had told her before. She had left him to anguish for four days over whether his sister had been killed in the southern border, just like the rest of their family - whether she had left him all alone.

She should have settled things before leaving. Morfindir had been right. And Eglerion was probably right, too. Belegorn wasn't taking well to any of it, and she had to help make it easier for him instead of making it worse. He was all she had, after all.

"I appreciate your advice", she murmured to Eglerion. "I'll try to make things right when I get back".

"That's good to hear. Now... Tell me. Did you come across anything interesting in the south?" he asked, the smile returning to his face.

"I'm not allowed to-"

"I didn't even ask for details!"

She sighed and looked around cautiously. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to them, so she gestured for Eglerion to come closer and whispered, "I can't tell you more now, but it seems like we're in big trouble".

"Do tell more!"

"I really can't. And not because I don't want to. I have no idea what it is that dwells down there. We hope that the King might enlighten us".

Eglerion's eyebrows scrunched up. "Is it that bad?"

Maeloth nodded gravely. "I can't even explain what I heard..."

" _Heard?_ "

She did not say more. The remembrance of the voice and of the chase afterwards was vivid but also weirdly distant, feeling more like a nightmare than something that had actually happened. Only the pain and the fatigue lingered to remind her that she had actually been through such a thing. She was exhausted and all of her remaining energy was spent in worrying about Belegorn. She doubted she would have energy left to do what she had to by the time she met him, but she had to at least apologize before resting that night.

"Alright, I get it. I won't learn more now", Eglerion said with a pout.

"I'm sorry. I'm just so tired. The last days were crazy. I want to get everything over with and rest".

"Be patient for a little bit more, then. We're almost home".

 _Home_. The word held such relief for Maeloth that the promise of it kept her calm enough for the short remainder of the journey. And, when they reached the slopes of the Black Mountains and the lights of the capital glinted overhead, she let out a sigh she hadn't realized she had been holding for four days. At that moment, fear and anxiousness faded. No matter what, she had made it back. Everything else would fall into place, as long as she was back.

She had gone over tens of lines of apology in her head as she rode. None had stuck with her. As her horse climbed the path up the mountain, she realized it didn't matter. All that mattered was to see her brother and let him know that she was safe. The rest was insubstantial.

As they approached the gates and the horns sounded, she found herself almost unable to contain her impatience. She looked for the presence she knew to be there, but she did not spot him until the gates opened to admit them.

The two heavy panels had barely split when a figure shot out from between them and ran towards the approaching group of riders, long brown hair swept by the wind.

A few minutes ago, Maeloth thought that her heart might burst, but the moment she saw Belegorn run towards her, she stopped feeling it altogether. She climbed down from her horse and went numb all over at the sight of his face: it was an unrefined, primitive carving of raw emotion, with tears sparkling under the last light of the day.

She had barely had time to take two steps before he crashed into her in a wave of limbs and warmth and his own familiar scent. She staggered from the force of his hug as his arms flew around her. He clasped her madly, pulling her body against his and squeezing her with what was clearly all the strength his thin body possessed. Fingers burrowed in her hair and she felt his breath burning against her ear.

"I'm sorry", he whispered among rapid and uneven gasps. "I'm sorry, Maeloth, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

He went on repeating his whispered apology, holding her tight enough for her to feel his whole body heaving with every gasp.

Her own apology was lost somewhere in her throat. The world had gone blurry. She hugged him back, hiding her face in the crook of his neck and inhaling the scent of his hair - the scent that meant home.

His voice had turned thick and she could tell that he was crying as he kept on apologizing, barely pausing to breathe properly. She stroked his hair soothingly and whispered in the softest voice that she could muster, "It's alright, Belegorn".

She knew that no further apology was required. She knew she did not have to say more and she felt that he didn't need to, either. At that moment, everything really was alright.

"It's alright. Stop apologizing".

She felt him shake his head fervently. "No, I- I was a fool, Maeloth, a complete fool. Please forgive me, please, please, please-"

She hushed him, tightening her embrace to let him know that he was already forgiven - that he was forgiven long before he asked for it. She blinked the blurriness of her own eyes away as she kept stroking his hair and murmuring soothing nonsense in his ear.

She was aware of her companions dismounting and talking with a few Elves that had come to welcome them. She was mildly embarrassed that this scene was taking place before her, but calming down her brother was more important at the moment. She could feel his breathing gradually growing more even and controlled, but he refused to let go.

Her companions were making their way past the gate and she caught Morfindir looking back at her.

"Maeloth", he called in a solemn, almost commanding tone. "We need to see the King. He is waiting for our report".

"I know. I'm coming", she replied, looking at him apologetically.

She saw him sigh and turn her back on her to follow the rest of his companions inside the walls of the capital.

"Belegorn", Maeloth whispered and tried to free herself from his grip. He tightened his hold on her instead of letting her go. "Belegorn", she repeated, a bit more sternly this time. "We have to go inside".

Slowly, reluctantly, he released her. He wiped a hand across his face, brushing the last of his tears away, and looked at her properly. He eyed her, undoubtedly scanning her for injuries or anything alarming, but he did not comment on the way she looked. As for him, he was both absurdly pale and flushed at the same time.

At long last he nodded and sighed in an almost defeated way. They walked past the gates side by side, Belegorn making it obvious that he had no intention of straying more than a step away from her. They had to speed up to reach Maeloth's companions and caught up to them as they entered the palace.


	16. Moving North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter size changes, starting from this one. From now on, chapters will be bigger, in order to set a better pacing. Plus, cutting up the events in smaller chapters will get increasingly harder and more frustrating for me, so... bigger chapters it is!
> 
> This chapter marks a change, and not only in word count. So far, I've been setting up the pieces for my main plot (on hindsight, 15 chapters of setup is too much, but... oh well, I guess I had too much fun writing). Now it's time to start moving the pieces. As Gandalf says, "Things are now in motion that cannot be undone."

It turned out their hopes for an explanation had been too high.

Maeloth and her companions recounted everything as faithfully as they could and King Thranduil listened intently. From the dark look in his eyes they could understand that his thoughts were a raging storm, but he only spoke to ask for certain details and clarifications. After the report, he stayed silent for long, until he requested to be left alone. So it was that the group of Elves was dismissed, remaining as much at a loss as before.

The King was lost in thought for many long days. They heard that he had been searching in the old tomes of the palace's library, retrieving forgotten scrolls from dusty corners and deciphering faded texts. After that he was seen contemplating with his gaze lost among the stars for hours on end. In the end he had to admit that his knowledge had reached its limit. He had no clear explanation about the voice in the south. No clues, no leads, no idea concerning what had settled in Amon Lanc.

More than a thousand years had passed in peace. After the Last Alliance and the fall of Sauron, the shadows had scattered. The Men kept watch around the borders of Mordor, as they should, but only as a precaution. The days of peace had been prosper and fruitful, so much that they had started thinking that the shadow would never return. For a thousand years the Wood Elves' biggest trouble had been nothing more than a few bandits or some overconfident Dwarves crossing their territory. There had been no hint of something more sinister until the massacre at Maeloth's village.

It had been so sudden. The change was too big and too fast. Spiders in Greenwood, Orcs in Amon Lanc. Tainted air, twisted paths, discomfort and unrest in everything living on those grounds - Elves, animals and plants alike. And on top of it all, a voice without a body, hissing in their minds.

They might be at a loss, but it was not hard to deduce that this voice had to belong to someone, and that this  _someone_  was probably behind everything: behind the darkness, the growing numbers of Orcs, the attacks and the newly erected walls of Amon Lanc. One thing was certain: dark powers beyond the common were dwelling there. The shadows were gathering again.

It was the first real threat in over a thousand years.

The King advised calmness and patience. No rash assumptions were to be made; they could be certain on nothing until they had more information. However, that was not enough to stop the growing fear in the hearts of his subordinates, nor to stop the whispered conversations concerning the threat of Amon Lanc. Sauron's name came out of oblivion, even though many of the Elves that had seen the days of the Last Alliance had left Middle Earth, leaving the younger ones behind - the ones that had learned that name only through stories and songs. Some went as far as to say that in Amon Lanc dwelt a servant of Sauron, someone who had survived and wanted either to avenge his master. But that was as far as these conversations would go before the parties broke from the corners they were huddled.

The fact remained that, no matter how wildly their imagination could roam, they had no definite clues.

More groups were sent to the south, to no avail. Amon Lanc was unapproachable. No mission managed to get as close as that first one had managed to and nobody heard that mysterious voice again, either.

Orcs and spiders were swarming southern Greenwood, pressing slowly but steadily towards the north. In the months that followed, the defense of the Elven Capital became the ardent task of every soldier. Enemy attacks became a daily thing, even though they weren't always organized or big enough to be considered a serious threat. Sometimes they were little more than a nuisance; groups of enemies so small in numbers that they were slaughtered within minutes.

Soon the Elves started wandering what the enemy hoped to achieve by sending poorly organized groups to their certain death, until they realized the twisted truth. These attacks were little more than  _teasing_ ; an unrefined, almost bored display of power. The enemy did not care about losing a few soldiers every day, because the fortress of Amon Lanc was teeming with them. Their numbers were too big, whereas the Elves counted on every single soldier for their defense.

It served both as a reminder and a threat: for the time being, they  _chose_  not to attack with a bigger force. For the time being, they were just playing around.

Maeloth constantly found herself on the battlements of some outpost or treading stealthily through the forest, battling spiders day in and day out. And, day in and day out, her frustration grew. The constant fighting was demanding and the small victories rewarding in their own way, but that was not nearly enough and the one thing that could really satisfy her was determinedly kept away from her.

Even though she knew exactly how dangerous it was, she wanted to go back to the south. She felt the urgent need to finish what she had started - or, more accurately, to keep true to the promise she had made herself.

She had not forgotten about the Orcs. She had not forgotten her yearning to find a way to bring them down; not just one or two or ten of them, but as many as she could possibly manage. The voice and the chase had distracted her, but once that shock wore off she was able to reflect on what she had seen with a more critical eye. She kept thinking about their numbers, the fortress, the walls surrounding them and their potential master, and the thoughts burned at her insides. She did not mention a thing about their village to Belegorn, but its remains smoldered in her head, servings as coals to further stoke her own fire.

She wanted to repay the death of every Elf with the blood of a hundred Orcs or more. To tear down the walls that protected them and hunt them down, one by one. To cut off the head of their master and see if it could still talk without a body.

She had to go back to Amon Lanc and scout the area more carefully. She wanted to face everything again from a calmer perspective and perhaps detect a few details that had gone unnoticed on her first time around, a weakness that she could exploit.

The King might hesitate to take action, wanting to focus more on defense than offense, but she did not need him. She would form a plan of her own if she had to. All she needed was more information.

This led her to volunteer to go south, despite Belegorn's heated objections, only to be met with denial. Everybody acknowledged her usefulness in the first mission, but they did not allow her to join a second one. No matter how much she persisted, her superiors did not budge. When her frustration reached its peak, she demanded for the reason. She found out that someone had requested to exclude her from all future missions to Amon Lanc, and that this someone was none other than Morfindir.

She lost no time in combing the palace to find her captain and confront him about it. She could not really believe that he was the one behind this, since he was the one person who had given her the chance to fight in the first place. She could not think of any reason that would make Morfindir order such a thing. Maeloth felt betrayed even at the thought, so she sought him out to stop these harrowing suspicions.

She finally tracked him down at sunset, in a deserted corridor close to general Adan's office. He had been standing alone, leaning against a windowsill and looking out to the fading light. He looked troubled, but that was no rare sight these days - everyone seemed to carry a perpetual frown between their brows.

For a moment she took in the sight of him, mesmerized by the way the pure black of his hair shone with gold and orange under the light of the newly-lit torches. Something inside her calmed down before his familiar figure. She had come to trust her captain more than anyone and there was no reason to doubt him now. So she took a deep, steadying breath and walked up to him, ready to make everything clear and, with his help, set things straight.

What she never expected was him readily admitting to everything.

"It's true," he said after he heard her explain the situation. "I was the one that requested your exclusion from the missions to the south."

He had spoken calmly, but his words had hurt like a sudden strike.

Maeloth was stunned into silence, looking at him with wide eyes, refusing to accept this straightforward admission until, slowly, her denial turned into something more savage.

"And may I ask why?" she said, trying her best to keep her tone civil even as her voice wavered from restrained anger.

He matched her glower with a steady look of his own. "It's quite simple. I don't want you going back there."

She swallowed the urge to start shouting and took her gaze off his annoyingly calm face. "I am afraid I have to ask again, captain... Why? I thought I was useful in that first mission. You said yourself you were grateful."

"That I am, but this has nothing to do with-"

"Is it because of the way I reacted when I saw my village?" she cut across him, her impatience growing.

Morfindir's brows scrunched up, surprised that she had suggested such a thing. "Of course not. Even though I would like to protect you from the distress of going back to that place, I assure you this is not-"

"Because it won't happen again, you know," she said fiercely. "Back then, I was unprepared. I was caught by surprise. It won't happen again."

Her resolution seemed to perturb him. His frown deepened in a more grave expression, but when he spoke, his voice was still calm and patient. "I already told you that your reaction is not the reason why I took this decision."

"Then what is the reason?" she insisted, voice raising of its own accord.

He exhaled slowly. Maeloth could tell that this conversation was unpleasant - even uncomfortable - for him, but she was too furious at his betrayal to relent. She curled her palms into two shaking fists as she stared at him, waiting for his answer. He seemed to have quite a hard time choosing the right words.

Just when his silence had started getting on Maeloth's nerves, he spoke, his voice quiet and reserved. "The south is not safe anymore. We almost died the first time. Going down there is almost equivalent to suicide."

Maeloth narrowed her eyes as a suspicion crossed her mind. "I don't get it. Are you trying to protect me?"

"Yes, I am afraid I do," Morfindir replied; if the thought wasn't so ridiculous, she would say he sounded embarrassed.

Instead of softening her, this answer kindled a different kind of anger. "You have no right to decide what I do with my own life!"

"As a matter of fact, I do. As your captain, it is my duty to protect you."

"What about the soldiers you  _do_  send to the south, then?" she yelled, casting to the wind her efforts to remain polite. "What about  _their_  safety? Why don't you protect them from this suicide mission, too?"

Morfindir pressed his lips into a tight line and his face took a stony expression. When he spoke, his tone was sharp and resolute. "As a captain, it is my duty to judge who has sufficient experience and skill for such a dangerous task and make the best decisions to ensure both the safety of my subordinates and the success of the mission at hand."

They glared at each other for a long, hard moment. Nothing moved but the light of the torches, flickering on their still figures.

Finally Maeloth spoke through gritted teeth. "So... I'm not skilled enough and I would endanger both the mission and myself. Is that it?"

Morfindir nodded once.

"What about fighting the spiders at the outposts every other day? Isn't  _that_  dangerous?" she went on, determined not to give up.

"Not as dangerous, no."

"That's absurd!" she shouted, not able to hold back her exasperation anymore. "I am a soldier! Putting my life on the line is what I'm supposed to do! You can't stop me from doing my duty-"

"Do you want to die so badly?" he interjected then, his voice heating up for the first time.

The change in his tone was enough to startle Maeloth out of her angry rant. She blinked a few times at him as his question sank in. "No," she muttered darkly.

"Then trust me to judge what you are capable of doing and what you are not. You have already questioned my orders more than is acceptable."

The cold austerity of his voice stunned her into silence once more. His black eyes were harsh in a most uncharacteristic way, and yet the crease between his brows betrayed something akin to pain. She could see in his face that she was already treading a fine line, but she made one last attempt, her pride pushing her to fight until the very end.

"Allow me to ask one more thing, captain."

He did not encourage her to speak, but he gave no indication to show that he forbade her to, either. She took this a the cue to go on with her question.

"From the very first time, you were the one that encouraged me to fight. You were the one that supported me. You gave me the chance to participate to a mission I knew could cost me my life. You gave me the chance to make a difference. So why take this chance away from me now?"

The harshness melted away from his eyes. The impression of pain became more intense as he stared at her. When he answered, he spoke slowly, as if measuring his words.

"I never took away your chance to fight. You fight every day at the outposts. You help us prevent another tragedy like the one of your village and, if possible, bring the enemy down. Isn't that enough for you?"

She scowled. She did not have to tell him - he could see by himself that it wasn't even close to being enough.

"See?" Morfindir said in a low voice, as if her silence had proved everything. The corner of his mouth twitched in something resembling half a smile, only it held no sign of joy or triumph. "You are not satisfied. You want more - and you'll keep wanting more. I hesitate to allow you to go south a second time because I am afraid you might act... recklessly."

She frowned at him. She didn't know what was more disturbing: his unwavering intent to keep her safe - even if it was from her own actions - or his certainty that said actions would be risky. Had she really been giving off the impression that she couldn't control herself? Had she already started acting this carelessly?

This would not do. She would have to be more careful if she didn't want to be stuck fighting petty spiders forever.

Or... It might be that he really wanted to protect her. She couldn't tell why he cared so much, but his intentions could be pure. In that case, she would just have to show him that he shouldn't feel so responsible. She was not that incapable of taking care of herself.

"My life is my responsibility, captain," she said. "I am aware of the risks I take, and if I am to make mistakes and pay the price, then so be it."

"Still, I am afraid I cannot allow that." Morfindir's reply was soft-spoken, but final.

He gave her a curt bow to indicate the end of the conversation and turned his back on her. He walked away slowly, with his shoulders somewhat hunched instead of squared in his typical strong and proud manner. He gave the impression of a defeated man, even though Maeloth felt that she was the undisputable loser of their argument.

Just before he turned around the corner of the corridor, Maeloth stopped him with one more question; two words that slipped from her tongue before she could help it.

"Why me?"

Morfindir halted and remained very still. He made no move to either turn and face her or leave. Maeloth couldn't tell whether he was waiting for her to elaborate or simply trying to form a response, but she went on anyway.

"I know you don't go to such lengths to protect the rest of your subordinates. Why me?"

She saw his shoulders stiffen under the many layers of his military attire.

The light of the torches danced on his sleek black hair as he shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. The silence was broken by a quiet, humorless chuckle before he murmured his answer, seeming to be talking more to himself than her.

"I guess I am more selfish than I thought."

The faint echo of his response was immediately covered by that of his footsteps as he finally walked away, disappearing around the corner before Maeloth had time to stop him with another question.

* * *

" _'Why you'_ , you ask?" Eglerion exlaimed, looking at Maeloth as if she had just expressed the craziest question imaginable.

They were alone on the rooftop of one of the palace's less busy parts: a small, deserted watchtower that jutted out of the main building, facing to the east. Hardly ever anyone set foot on it, making it an ideal place to hold confidential conversations.

They were so high up that, every time Maeloth leaned over the battlements to look to the ground, she felt slightly dizzy. Actually, she couldn't even see the ground; all that was under their feet was treetops. In this part of the Black Mountains the cliff fell sharply, making the east side of the palace unapproachable. It gave her the impression that the little tower was hovering over nothingness - which intensified the anxious clench of her stomach every time she glanced at Eglerion.

The half-Elf was sitting on the battlements with his back to the gaping darkness beyond, completely disregarding the altitude. Far behind his back, a waning moon had just emerged over the eastern edge of the horizon, looking like a silver scythe in a field of stars. The night sky overhead was unobscured by clouds.

They had brought no torches with them, but the soft illumination from the stars was enough for Maeloth to discern the look of exasperation on her friend's face.

She frowned at him as she folded her arms across her chest. "Well, I don't get it."

Eglerion smacked a hand on his forehead. He let his hand slide down his face as he let out a long grunt, until it came to rest in front of his mouth, muffling his next words. "I can't believe you are this stupid!"

She pouted. If he wasn't sitting in such a dangerous position, she would smack him for that.

Eglerion dropped his hand from his face and fixed his gaze on her. His green eyes were bright even in the darkness, sparkling with the reflection of a million stars.

"Isn't it obvious, Maeloth? He's in love with you!"

Dangerous position or not, she really thought it might be worth hitting him. She pointed a warning finger at him. "Stop fooling around for once. This is serious."

"So am I," Eglerion insisted. "You can't be that blind. He's been in love with you for quite some time now."

Maeloth threw her hands in the air and started laughing, even though she did not find it the least funny. "You're insane!" she declared.

"And  _you_  are blind. I've known Morfindir longer than you. I've been under his command ever since he became a captain. So, believe me when I say that I've never seen him act like this before."

She stopped laughing and cast him a serious look. "Alright, joke's over now."

Eglerion rolled his eyes. "Why are you so intent on denying this?"

"Because what you are saying is not possible! He is my captain and I am his subordinate!"

"So?"

Maeloth huffed, nostrils flaring. "Can you really not see the absurdity of this? I don't even know if a relationship between us is allowed-"

"I did not talk about a relationship," Eglerion pointed out. "I talked about  _feelings_. I talked about him being very much in love with you, dear Maeloth, and don't try to skip around the subject."

She could feel her cheeks heat up, but she tried to dismiss it by scoffing. "Well, we might as well drop the subject anyway, since there is no point in discussing it further."

Eglerion's brows shot up. "And why is that?"

"Because no matter how he feels, nothing can happen between us," she explained, trying her best to ignore the disappointment she felt as she said these words. "I'm sure it won't be allowed for a simple soldier to fool around with a captain."

Eglerion touched his lips with the tip of his index, looking skeptical. "Fool around... No. Form a relationship, on the other hand... I don't think anyone will have a problem with that."

Maeloth gave him her best condescending look. "Don't be naive. I'd probably be expelled from the army and he would be stripped off his rank or something of the sort."

"Even the King knows that it is futile to go between two people in love, and ranks don't matter when there's such a pure feeling involved. Which brings us to the next question..." Eglerion's eyes flashed playfully and he swung his dangling feet in excitement. "How do  _you_ feel about Morfindir?"

She almost choked on her sharp inhale at his question. She felt not just her cheeks, but her whole face heat up. She turned away from his prying eyes and turned her gaze to the view in a vain attempt to hide her expression from him.

The truth was she hadn't been able to answer that question even to herself. It was a fact that she had been terrified when Morfindir was hurt during their mission and she was willing to risk her own safety for him. It was also a fact that she enjoyed his company and felt a most exciting kind of unrest whenever in his presence - even though a short while ago all she did was argue and shout at him. There had been arguments between them - mostly because of her stubbornness - but there was no denying of the way she felt when he smiled or so much as looked at her.

But did this mean she was in love? Was this enough to be considered... love?

"I don't know," she whispered, as a response both to Eglerion and her own unvoiced questions. "I am not indifferent towards him, that much is certain, but..."

She sighed and trailed off. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Eglerion watching her.

"So, you need some more time. There's nothing wrong with that," he said. He let his head fall back, with his nose towards the sky and his gaze lost in the depths of Elbereth's realm.

Maeloth had to resist the urge to grab him and drag him off the battlements, just to make sure that he wouldn't fall over, and tried to maintain her focus on their conversation. Bitterness was clawing at her chest as the one sentence she did not want to utter was trying to fight its way out of her. In the end she said in a low voice, "It doesn't matter, anyway."

Eglerion turned to her with a puzzled frown. "Why?"

She found that it was easier to just look at the endless carpet of treetops that spread before her instead of Eglerion's inquiring eyes. She steeled herself by frowning at the view and said sharply, "Nothing is ever going to happen between us. So there is no point in thinking about it."

"Why not?" Eglerion asked again.

"Well," Maeloth started off, all of a sudden irritated at this pointless conversation, "first off, Belegorn hates him."

"...So?" Eglerion said slowly.

"So, can you imagine how he will feel if-" She made a pause to huff and shake her head. "I'd never do something to hurt him this much."

"Let me ask you something, Maeloth," Eglerion said, shuffling to sit straighter and look her with a serious face. "Is it going to be you or your brother the one in a relationship with Morfindir?"

Maeloth hesitated before giving the one obvious and undisputable answer to this question. "Me, but-"

" _You_ ," Eglerion said firmly. "There is no 'but'. It is  _your_  life and  _your_  feelings. You don't answer for those to anybody else. And, if Belegorn loves you, he'll accept that which makes you happy."

"I wish things were that simple," she murmured.

"Things are as simple or as complicated as you want them to be."

Maeloth chuckled. "Is this some obscure piece of half-Elf wisdom?"

"Nope," Eglerion shook his head. "Simply something I've come to realize over the years."

She leaned on the battlements and looked over the edge of the forest to the dark line of the horizon. The rock on which she leaned on was smooth under her hands, polished from countless years worth of wind and rain. She gripped at it tightly, hes nails scratching the unrelenting surface with a sickening sound.

"There's one more reason," she said, her voice low like a distant rumble of thunder. Eglerion glanced at her, unnerved by the sudden change of mood.

She turned her head to the right, towards the south. The line of the horizon wasn't visible in that direction. The sheet of dark trees disappeared under deep shadow, impenetrable even by elven eyes. It was as if the night itself had opened its mouth and swallowed that part of the forest, plunging it into a starless void. The sky over Maeloth's head was clear, but on the south clouds were hanging low, swirling and writhing, concealing the hill and the fortress that she knew lay there.

Eglerion followed her line of sight and let out a small, "Oh."

"We have more important things to worry about, don't you think? Enemies gathering in the south. Orcs. Spiders. Trolls.  _Voices_ ," she hissed the last word. "The forest is changing and the attacks won't stop. And I sit here talking about  _love_." She let out a sharp, contemptuous laugh.

"What is wrong with that?"

Maeloth tore her gaze away from the clouds to give Eglerion a look of disbelief. "I should focus on fighting! That's the most important thing now, not love and relationships and-"

She stopped talking because Eglerion was shaking his head.

"This is where you're wrong," he said softly. "We are all fighting. But what are you fighting for, if not to protect life? What, if not for a chance to keep on loving, and laughing, and forming relationships...? We do not live to fight, Maeloth. We fight to live. By giving these things up, it's like you've already lost."

She closed her mouth and contemplated his words. After a few minutes passed in silence, she shook her head and let a fond smile curl her lips.

"Talking with you sure is annoying, since you are almost always right," she said.

"And yet I am surprisingly useless, since you never take my advice!" Eglerion laughed, poking her with the tip of his foot.

She let her gaze roam over the horizon.

"Yes, you see... Your words hold some truth, but not the whole of it. Things are not as simple for everyone. For you, protecting life means living today to the fullest, but it is not the same for me. I had once lived free, without worry and fear, and I... I lost that life in the blink of an eye." She paused to cough the thickness that had crept into her voice. "Now I have to ensure that this will not happen again. For me, protecting life means destroying the enemy. That is my own simple truth. And I will see it to its end. I know I won't be able to rest until I do."

* * *

In those days, the palace's library was quiet and deserted. After the King's raid to its shelves, the pages of the ancient tomes were left to rest. The Elves had left the books and had gripped their swords instead, as the times demanded. Only a sole figure kept roaming among the high bookcases, upsetting the slow settle of dust.

Maeloth had decided to follow the King's example and look for wisdom in the old texts. She was not expecting to find clues about their enemy. She knew that, if anything helpful to their current predicament could be found among those pages, the King would have already spotted it.

What she was after was knowledge. She wanted to learn about old enemies and find out how their ancestors had answered to the threats of their time. She wanted to read of old battles, warriors and heroic deeds, strategies that had turned the tide even in the darkest of times. She kept notes of both honest and dishonest ways to win, paying attention to the details of tricks and mischievous plans - anything that might prove useful one day.

She carried tome after tome to the small table she used for studying and read through the night hours, stopping only when the candles were nothing but pools of wax in their holders. Then she chose a book or a few scrolls to take with her to her room, to study while keeping company to Belegorn, just to make him quit his nagging.

Whenever she wasn't sent out to fight, she was studying. She read anything she could get her hands on. She isolated herself from the commotion, the rumors and the unrest, and dived into narrations of ancient wars. She read of tears and blood and horror until duty called her, whereupon she plunged herself into actual fights, where the blood was not just a written word but a reality with smell, color and taste. The feeling of rough parchment against her fingertips was replaced with the cold steel of her sword and vice versa in a constant cycle that soon became her routine.

When she realized that the small fights would never fulfill her, she resorted to studying. She had begun with nothing but a very vague idea of what she wanted to achieve but, page after page, tale after tale, her sketchy thoughts turned into something more concrete. She had long since accepted that killing off a few spiders or a few Orcs would lead nowhere. Killing even a band of Orcs, the way she had wanted to when on that mission, would also be insignificant - there were thousands more in the fortress of Bald Hill. If she really wanted to achieve something she would have to find a way to deal a much larger blow. She did not know yet  _how_  she would make something like that happen, but that was what she had set out to find.

It was her new goal. A new purpose that she pursued with passion; and, contrary to the heated hours of battle, it was one that brought out her more patient and calculating side. She had craved the action of the battlefield for long, but this new approach of things was surprisingly satisfying, too. It kept the fire in her calm enough, burning low, in wait.

There would come a time for that fire to thrive and rage again and, when that time came, she would make it as grand as possible. She would let it consume as much as it could. She would take out the shadow with one massive blow.

She only had to find out how to do it.

She did not speak a word of her thoughts to anyone. Belegorn was complaining about the long hours she spent in the library, but not as much as he did when she left to join her unit in battle. Studying at least meant that she was safe so, mostly, he just let her at it. He browsed through the books she carried back to their room, but he asked no questions.

As for Eglerion, he dug her out of the library every once in a while, to share a cup of wine or play a game of chess. That was she only time Maeloth allowed herself to really rest. Even though she wasn't always willing to leave her books, Eglerion was charming enough to persuade her almost every time. Plus, the breaks were useful; they helped her clear her head. He was curious, of course, and he asked her what she was planning on more than one occasion, but she kept saying that she was just looking for information the King might have missed.

Winter gave its place to spring and spring slowly turned into summer, but few things changed. The most notable change was the forest itself, which had become downright inhospitable. The attacks on the capital became more pressing and three outposts were lost in the first two months of spring. The King kept sending infiltration missions to the south and they kept failing, one after the other.

Until the day came that one group did not return. They waited for a few days, just in case the mission had been indeed successful and they were being held up due to the slow nature of infiltration and stalking missions. After all, it had been a group of skilled warriors led by Berior, who was a weathered fighter and had been on that first, semi-successful trip to the south.

After not hearing news for more than a week, they sent a second group to look for the first. No one returned, either.

That had been enough for the unease to grow among the Elves. After seeking the advise of Lord Elrond of Rivendel, King Thranduil took an important decision.

The Black Mountains were not safe anymore. They were too close to the still unidentifiable threat of Amon Lanc. The enemy had managed to spread their corruption to the very boundaries of their realm and was growing more and more impatient with each passing day. Should the Orcs decide to attack full force, the Elves would be too easy a target. Their capital was built with peace in mind and its defenses were already crumbling. That left them with only one choice: to move to a safer location.

The King decided to relocate the capital to the north-east part of Greenwood, where they would be too far away for the shadowy claws of Amon Lanc to reach them. They would be safe enough to build stronger defenses and study the enemy from afar. The new capital was to be impregnable; a safe haven for the King's people as well as a stronghold to host a power against the darkness. Thranduil had been a great king during the times of prosperity, but now he was determined to show the Woodland Elves' strength and resilience.

Their moving north was not a sign of defeat, but rather the exact opposite: a sign that the war for dominance over Greenwood had just begun.

Architects were sent north immediately after the decision was taken. Then followed diggers, builders and all kinds of artisans. They worked hard as summer rolled over the forest. When the first yellowing leaves appeared on the trees, the King announced that those that wished to, could move north and help with the construction of their new home.

Since the Black Mountains were more unsafe than ever, it was advised that the families with children, as well as those who could not fight, move as soon as possible. All the artisans and craftsmen would go north to help shape the new capital and those who wished to do so, were welcome to join them. Most of the troops would remain behind to defend the capital and hold back the advancement of the shadow until all of Woodland's Elves were safe in the north.

Belegorn, ever loyal to his habits, had not come out to hear the King's speech. He disliked showing himself in public and dismissed every invitation to gatherings, even the mandatory ones. He counted on his sister to pass any important news to him and Maeloth had long since stopped arguing with him about it. So, after that announcement - and a more private discussion with her unit and their captain - Maeloth returned to her room, ready for a very unpleasant conversation.

She found Belegorn in his armchair, as usual, reading one of the books she had brought from the library the previous night. When he heard his sister enter the room, he made no attempt at a greeting apart saying, "So? What was the important announcement?"

She took her time by slowly closing the door behind her and dragging her legs to the small table in the middle of their room. Her silence made Belegorn lift his eyes from his book.

"What's wrong?"

She sighed, mentally preparing herself for the argument that was sure to follow.

"We're moving north," she said without further introductions.

"What do you mean  _'we'_?" he asked slowly.

"All of us. The capital will relocate to the north, where we'll be safer."

Belegorn cocked an eyebrow but otherwise showed no other sign of surprise. "Oh. Alright." He returned to his book, looking quite indifferent to the news. "When?" he added then.

Maeloth gulped, bracing herself. "The soldiers will be the last to leave, to ensure the safety of everyone. But those who do not fight can move as soon as they want to. It is considered safer for them, you see."

That managed to catch Belegorn's attention. He lowered his book to his lap and frowned at Maeloth.

"You fight. So we stay," he said. It was not phrased as a question, but she could see the need for an answer in his brown eyes.

She chose her next words carefully. "I can choose whether I want to remain here or go north to oversee the moving."

Belegorn narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Where will your unit be?"

"My unit will stay here to defend the city."

"So why can  _you_  leave?"

"Because of you," she admitted. "You cannot fight and you...  _we_  went through a 'traumatic experience', as they say, so we are allowed to move north earlier if we want to."

She saw alarm take over his features. If the rapid rising and falling of his chest was any indication, she would say that his pulse had sped up considerably. He had pieced it together now, she could see that, yet he needed one last confirmation of his suspicions.

"You want to stay," he stated with a gruff voice.

She nodded once and she saw fear dawn on his face. He knew what was coming, and she could already guess his answer, but she said it nonetheless.

"You will be safer in the north."

Just as she expected, Belegorn sprang to his feet, sending the book to fly off his lap. "NO!"

"Belegorn..."

"I am not moving without you!"

"Please listen to me-"

"I am not. Moving. Without you," he stressed the words, warning flashing in his eyes.

Maeloth opened her mouth to speak, but all she ended up doing was exhale heavily. She could recognize her own steadfast stubbornness on her brother's face, so she knew better than keep trying to change his mind.

"Please sit down," she told him tiredly as she drew a chair for herself.

Belegorn scowled at her for a few seconds before he complied. He sat on the arm of his own chair, ready to shoot back on his feet at the first provocation.

Maeloth tried to keep her face as passive as possible to hide the battle that was going on inside her. Her two stronger wishes were clashing. On the one side was the will to keep Belegorn safe, and on the other the one to stay and keep fighting. From the moment she had heard King Thranduil's announcement, this battle had been raging in her mind, but it intesified as she looked upon Belegorn's face.

His jaw was set in determination and his eyes were spitting fire as he glared at her. He looked ready to take on everything she threw at him just to stay close to her; ready to bite and claw his way to her side like an enraged animal. And yet, under his unwavering - furious even - resolution, she could discern his despair. This stubbornness was nothing more than a facade, a last resort. The truth was he felt helpless before Maeloth's will, and she could see it. He could not hide the desolation in his eyes. No matter how much he kicked and screamed, he was hanging from Maeloth's decisions, and she was the one person he could not really fight.

She wondered if that was what Morfindir saw in her own face when he looked at her - if he could see past her own mask the way she could see past Belegorn's. And... she also could not help but wonder whether Belegorn could read her own thoughts in her eyes, too.

Perhaps none of them was as good an actor as they thought.

She sighed deeply and rubbed her eyes. Either way, she had to make a choice. Either stay or go.

"Alright," she said. "We'll stick together. But we've still got to decide whether we go north or not."

Belegorn visibly relaxed, his stiff posture practically melting in relief. The anguish was wiped from his eyes. He shrugged and a faint smile softened his face.

"You choose. I don't care," he told her.

She raised her eyebrows. "You don't?"

He shook his head.

"You don't mind that it's more dangerous here?" she asked in astonishment. Belegorn was the one that always opted for the safest route, sometimes with annoying insistence. He was the one who always suggested to run and play it safe. She found it hard to wrap her head around this quick compliance.

"I don't care as long as we're together," he said simply.

She blinked a few times, but in the end had to accept that he was serious about it. "That's... good," she murmured. That definitely made things simpler. It meant that she could stay in the Black Mountains after all. It was the most convenient choice for her: she could both keep an eye on the enemy moves and keep studying in the palace's library. She would keep being in the heart of things, gathering information and experience useful for her plans. That was good, indeed.

However, it was convenient for her, but not for Belegorn. She had promised to keep him safe and, at this moment, moving was the safest option for him. They should move, if she wanted to keep him out of harm's way. His safety was the most important thing for her, the driving force behind everything that she did. Staying would mean contradicting her own wish.

She  _should_  move. She should take him and get as far away from Amon Lanc as they could. She should get him behind the walls of the new capital.

And yet... There would be nothing for her there. No books to read, no enemy to study. She would have to call her plans to a halt. Just when everything had found its course, just when she had found a purpose beyond being a simple soldier... She would have to sink back into uselessness.

The thought made her heart clench. The smoldering coals within her stirred, scratching at her insides. How would she endure something like that? If she did not provide kindling to the fire, it would end up burning her instead.

Belegorn was watching her expectantly. At least, his own eyes were calm and certain. He had achieved what he wanted to and he trusted her for the rest. He had placed his safety to her hands and waited for her to make the next move. If only to not betray his faith in her, she had to do it his way for once. Play it safe, for his sake.

But for how long could she keep this up? The enemy would catch up eventually. Turning their back to the threat would solve nothing in the long run. On the other hand, what she was trying to achieve might actually make a change. If she reached her goal not only Belegorn, but everybody, would be safe.

She bit her lip. It might be worth the risk.

After all, she wouldn't let him get close to danger. She would be here, too, protecting him and fighting to make sure that their defenses would last. And, if things turned too bleak, she could always take him and move. There was no need to worry yet.

She sat upright and fixed him with a determined look.

"We stay."


	17. The Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your attention, please! I changed the description of the fic. You will find the new description in the _Prologue_ , and I think it will give you a more specific idea of what's going to follow and where this whole fic is actually going. Make sure to check it out, to avoid any... erm... unpleasant surprises as this story progresses.
> 
> Now... I know I said some things in my previous author's note, and we are SO close to a major turning point, but... I kiiiinda misjudged the extent of the things I wanted to say before said turning point. Which taught me one thing: not to give any promises, since I clearly suck at estimating the length of the scenes I have in mind. :P
> 
> This one ends in something of a cliffhanger, because it's actually half of the chapter I had in mind (but, once again, I totally misjudged the length of the whole thing and had to split it). I'm not gonna promise promise anything, cause I said that I wouldn't - I'm just gonna *inform* you that most of the next chapter is already written. ;)
> 
> Aaand here goes chapter 17!

The Black Mountains emptied, slowly but steadily, in the course of the following months. The Elves that had been the joy and light of the Forest moved, to hide under the shade of northern trees. Only a few troops remained behind, to guard the great capital until the day when the very last citizen would move north.

As summer gave its place to autumn, the city was oddly quiet as it lay half-abandoned in the top of the Black Mountains' highest peak. Few feet remained to disturb the yellow leaves that settled on the paved roads. Few songs could be heard within the walls. Few fires flickered in the night. When winter came, most of the houses remained cold and dark. By that time, the King had moved north, too. Prince Legolas, remained behind, along with the biggest portion of their army, as the commander of a city that was slowly put to sleep.

In the winter of the year 1051 of the Third Age, the Elven Capital of the Black Mountains was indeed a gloomy place to live. Daytime was no longer bright. Clouds loomed constantly overhead, never dispersing to allow the rays of the sun to reach the trees. Without its golden light, the trees grew malicious. Their roots twisted deeper into the earth, greedy in their hunger and, in the deep, something fed them. Their branches grew high and thick, their shades impenetrable. Unnameable creatures thrived in the shadows. The sound of the wind through the leaves was a wail, the earth's whisper was poison. And the Black Mountains stirred, like a beast awakening from enchanted slumber. All of the south shook as if the earth was hit by giant hammers. Everything was slowly laid down on Amon Lanc's anvil, soon to be molded according to its shadow's will.

Spring never came to this land. The few flowers that bloomed were colorless, sick-looking and foul-smelling. Their petals were sneering grimaces. The Elves dared not touch them, as they dared no longer speak to the trees. It was futile.

The Men were the first to acknowledge what the Elves, blinded by love for their homeland, were not able to: this Forest was no longer Greenwood the Great. It was a place where nightmares slithered around the roots of the trees, cloaked in mist and shadows. They started calling it Mirkwood - and a fitting name it proved to be, since it would be centuries before the golden sunlight would manage to penetrate its darkness.

Silence might have fallen over the city, but under the branches swelled the sounds of battle; a cacophony of clangs, shrieks, clicking, metal grating against metal. The elves grew weary of fighting to hold back the hordes of enemies that threatened them, weary of cutting the poisonous webs the spiders weaved around the capital.

Maeloth grew weary too - bored even - of clearing the Forest paths every day. The confrontations with spiders and Orcs were not enough to break the monotony nor to give her a sense of achievement, or at least some satisfaction, so she tried to keep her focus on one thing: studying as much as possible. The oppressing atmosphere was hard to bear, but the days passed swiftly, lost as she was in her own small world of books and fighting. Routine made one day blend into another with few remarkable differences.

The days did not flow by as swiftly for Belegorn, though.

"You know what I hate the most?" he told her on one night of that damned spring. He was standing before the window, looking at the swirling clouds above. "I haven't seen the stars in months."

Maeloth, who was sitting on the table in the center of their room, surrounded by books and candles, spared him a glance before returning her gaze to the pages before her.

"We will leave soon," she replied, as she always did.

"We stayed for too long," Belegorn sighed.

Maeloth shifted uncomfortably in her seat but did not look up. He was right, but she couldn't leave just yet. There were treasures hidden in the royal library, and she was discovering more with each day that passed. She had decided not to leave before those tomes did.

"We will leave soon," she repeated, mainly to stifle her guilt.

She had said the same thing many times over the past months, so it came as no surprise when Belegorn scoffed and turned his back to her.

When the time to empty the library came, Maeloth realized she was more than a little relieved. She helped wrap the books safely in cloth and stack them to their allotted carriages, along with more furniture and royal possessions, and then volunteered as the carriages' escort.

Her unit was assigned to stay with prince Legolas until the very last minute, but Maeloth decided to finally put her permission to leave into use. Morfindir did not object - if anything, he looked relieved when she announced her decision. He signed her an official paper that placed her temporarily under lord Adan's command and bid her goodbye with a bow and a smile.

Ever since the time they had argued about the missions in the south, they had both been acting overtly polite towards each other. They had fought side by side every day, but they had avoided private conversations, or anything beyond the typical captain-subordinate exchanges. Nonetheless, as Maeloth and Belegorn were loading their few possessions on a carriage, Eglerion popped up, with a huge bag slung over his shoulder and his sword dangling over his hip.

"The captain ordered me to oversee the transport of the royal library to the north! These books must be very precious, indeed, if they need additional escorts!" he winked at Maeloth with an all-too-knowing smile.

Maeloth did not comment that, very aware of the suspicious scowl on Belegorn's face. However, once the procession begun, she allowed herself a thankful smile. Eglerion wasn't there because of the books - that much was obvious. He wasn't there to protect her either, for that matter. She was sure that he had been sent along with the sole intention of keeping her company; perhaps to make sure that she would have a friendly face in the north and thus make the relocation easier for her.

Last time, she had been annoyed at her captain's attempt to look out for her; this time, she was too grateful to object.

The most remarkable thing about the journey north was the change they experienced with each step they took. A weight was lifted from their hearts and minds - one they had grown so accustomed to, that they didn't notice was there until it disappeared.

In the south the Forest was stuck in limbo - in a dark and cold moment in time - but, in the north, time was flowing. Flowers had bloomed there. The grass was green. The sky was blue during the day and filled with stars during the night. It felt like returning to the land of the living after dwelling for too long in a graveyard, or taking a breath of fresh air after sleeping underwater. Once they reached the newly-named Emyn Fuin - or Mountains of Mirkwood, as the Men called them - they were welcomed with songs and laughter.

The new city left them in awe. The King's architects had dug deep into the earth of the mountains, shaping wide, high-ceilinged caverns out of the existing caves. A whole city lied under the earth, built so masterfully that it was hard to tell whether one was, indeed, underground.

The walls of the caves were carved into high domes, supported by columns of dizzying height. In some spots, the pillars were exchanged for actual living trees with lithe trunks that broke through the ceiling to stretch their branches above the surface. Every now and then one could hear the soft murmur of underground streams, or the whistle of the air as it slithered through the myriads of airvents. In the heart of the capital lay the palace, but it was impossible to tell where the royal building ended and where the rest of the city begun. Everything was connected like a giant beehive; the passages could be considered both roads and corridors.

In the old capital, Maeloth and Belegorn had nothing more than a room. In the new capital, she had arranged it so that a small house was allotted to them. It was situated close to the western edge of the city, away from the palace and most of the commotion - for her brother's sake.

Belegorn hadn't talked much during the journey but, as he walked at Maeloth's side towards their new home, he became uncharacteristically cheerful. He was the one to open the door and enter first, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. By the time Maeloth crossed the threshold, he was already exploring the place. His footsteps echoed in the empty spaces as he ran from room to room, followed by his voice.

"Oh, this is beautiful! Maeloth, you have to see this! This room will make a perfect study! It is a bit dark, but it will be fine with a few lamps and candles. And... I just found your bedroom! I think you'll love this! Oh, and that could be my room. Yes, that will work just fine. Hey, there's a fireplace in the washroom! That'll be very helpful... Here's the kitchen... Oh, that's nice! And the pantry... Ah, look! This storeroom will be great for your weapons and equipment! That way I won't have to pick up your sword from the table every time that I want to sit down and eat..."

He kept talking but his voice had turned distant and muffled, as he had probably entered said storeroom to further inspect it. As for her, she was still standing before the open door, transfixed.

She had never heard Belegorn like this before. Even as his voice reached her faintly from whatever depths he had burrowed into, she could feel the joy resonating through it. It was like listening to a different person; had she not known that it was her brother talking, she would not have recognized him. She could discern the smile that tinged his words with a light-hearted laugh.

She was grateful that he was out of sight. She prayed that he would remain so for a little bit longer, because stiffing her sobs was becoming increasingly hard. She did not want Belegorn to see her cry. She did not want to spoil this moment with her silly tears. She kept silent until her chest felt like it was about to explode, upon which she allowed herself to let out one single sob. She masked the treacherous sound by slamming the entrance door and hastily wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Just when she made sure her eyes were dry and her breath even, Belegorn appeared at the mouth of a corridor to her right.

"It's beautiful!" he beamed, slightly out of breath. His brown eyes were alight with joy and all the usual shadows were wiped from his face.

She stared at him, trying to fathom the change she was witnessing. She had heard the difference in his voice, but actually seeing it was enough to stun her. The Belegorn that stood before was not the one she had come to know this past year. He was a younger one. Unhurt. Unscarred.

There must have been a time when he was like this more often - when both of them were like this more often. She could not remember that time, but perhaps it did not matter. They would build a new life to make up for the one they lost. They would create new memories of smiles and laughter.

Belegorn had been right: they should have moved sooner.

"What is it?" he asked her, concern flickering across his face.

Her lips curled upwards in fondness.

"Smiling suits you," she said.

"Oh," he said, taken aback, and chuckled; the beauty of the sound broke her heart. "What do you think of the house?" He swiped the room with his eyes once more.

"It's great," she replied, without bothering to give the place a second glance; her eyes were fixed on him, basking in every second of this precious happiness.

He walked up to her and hugged her tightly.

"We have a home," he said and gave her an endearing squeeze.

She hugged him back. Once she was sure her voice would come out steady, she said, "Yes, we do."

And they would hold on to that one. She would make sure of it.

* * *

Her first duty after the relocation was putting the royal library back in order. When she volunteered to take on the job, nobody objected - especially since she was the only one to express any interest towards this particular task. Everybody's concern was on more pressing matters and arranging books was in no one's but Maeloth's mind. As for her, she was rather content with getting the job done alone and undisturbed, allowed to carry on her studies whenever she wanted to.

Belegorn had taken shaping up their new home entirely in his hands. He was unexpectedly adept at creating a cozy and inviting environment: after a few days and thanks to his efforts, their place really felt like home. Eglerion's house was close by. It was a very similar place, the main difference being that it was smaller, since he lived alone. Maeloth helped him settle in and, in a surprising strike of helpfulness, Belegorn offered to teach him how take care of the few plants of his house.

Everything was in order and would be perfect, was it not for one thing.

After the relocation, Maeloth's dreams had turned agitating. At nights she lay on her bed, staring at the branches that weaved patterns on the ceiling. It was hard to close her eyes and allow dreams to come to her. She had grown accustomed to dreaming about the destruction of her old home - now she closed her eyes to see her new one engulfed in flames, too. She always snapped awake, whispering to herself that nothing was over yet.

From the next room came the sound of Belegorn's soft and steady breathing as he slept. At least, his own dreams were peaceful.

Sometimes she tried to synchronize her breathing to his, to borrow some of his serenity and trick her heart into beating more slowly. There were times that it worked, and her lids drooped and she managed to get some sleep, but even then her dreams caused her to snap awake before long.

"Can't sleep?" Belegorn asked her on one night. Apparently, her continuous shuffling had woken him up, and he leaned against the entrance to her room, bleary eyed and disheveled.

"No," she replied with a scowl.

He rubbed his eyes. "Is there something I can do to help?"

She did not take the time to ask herself whether this was a good idea. She moved to leave enough free space for him to lie down and lifted the covers, inviting him to her side.

"I was thinking something along the lines of a hot beverage," Belegorn teased her with a sleepy smile. Still, he approached her, climbed on the bed and burrowed under the covers next to her.

She turned around and pressed her back against him. When she noticed his hesitation, she nudged him to indicate that she expected him to hug her. His touch was tentative as he wrapped and arm around her waist, but he relaxed when he felt her snuggle up to him.

His other hand found its way to her hair. He picked out a tuft and started twirling it around his fingers.

"Bad dreams?" he murmured. Maeloth just hummed in confirmation and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of Belegorn playing with her hair.

She couldn't really fathom how his arms could make her feel so safe. They weren't strong not capable of wielding weapons - they weren't like the solid and muscular arms she was used to seeing on her fellow soldiers. Even so, Belegorn's arms could shield her more effectively than anything else. They could hide her from the shadow that chanted in her head.

Gradually her thoughts grew calmer. She was tiptoeing on the verge of sleep when she heard Belegorn's voice once more, low and gruff with drowsiness.

"If you see any nightmares..." he started, and then paused to lean in and place a light kiss on the top of her head, "...try not to kick me."

She laughed quietly, but her reply fell asleep on her lips as she lost herself in the world of dreams.

In the months that followed, his embrace became her shelter on many nights. However, it wasn't always enough. On several occasions she ended up waking him up with her tossing and turning. On those nights Belegorn resorted to brewing some sort of relaxing beverage for her - one that did not prove very helpful, either.

In the end, Maeloth decided against crawling into his bed on her sleepless nights. It was futile more often than not, and the least she could do was spare her brother's rest.

* * *

The rays of the afternoon sun could not pierce the walls of the caves and reach the royal library. The rows and rows of bookcases were bathed in the orange light of torches and candles, which flickered every time Maeloth rushed past them. She had spent most of her day engrossed in a book about Nirnaeth Arnoediad, so now she had to hurry and get some book-arranging done before dinner.

She was climbing on a small ladder to place a tome on a high shelf when Eglerion sauntered in the library. She greeted him absent-minded as he approached, but he did not return the greeting. He merely leaned against a shelf and crossed his arms across his chest. A silent Eglerion was a suspicious thing, so she turned to eye him, half-wary and half-intrigued.

Once he was sure he had her attention, he said in a sweet, sing-song voice, "Guess who's coming north!" His sly smirk left little margin for doubt.

"Judging by the silly look on your face, I'd say captain Morfindir," Maeloth sighed.

"Oh yes!"

She turned back to the stack of books and examined the title on a cover to avoid looking Eglerion in the eye. "You still won't let it go?" she murmured. "I've been seeing him every day for months and nothing has-"

"Oh, but he's not the only one coming north! Everybody is! Prince Legolas, the rest of the troops - and our unit with them! I can't wait to see the guys again-"

"Wait, they're leaving the Black Mountains unprotected?" she asked with a frown.

"Maeloth, that's not even the point right now," Eglerion sighed tiredly. "The point is, there's gonna be a  _feast!_ "

He awaited for her reaction with a wide smile on his face, but she just stared back at him.

"A feast?" she repeated.

"Yes!" Eglerion said, unfazed by her lack of enthusiasm. "The King wants to welcome his son and properly celebrate the successful completion of our relocation! And, on top of that, their scheduled arrival coincides with Midsummer's eve, so the festivities will be twice as grand! It is going to be the greatest feast this forest has ever seen!"

The idea did not excite her nearly as much as him, so all she said was, "That sounds... interesting."

Eglerion nodded lively. "So, are you coming?"

"Umm..." She hesitated. "I'm not sure..."

She didn't want to admit it, but her sleepless nights had drained her of her energy. The nightmares that plagued her had left her exhausted in more than one ways, so the idea of a feast did not sound really appealing. In fact, an event of such scale seemed downright daunting.

"The captain will be there," Eglerion said, as if that would settle everything.

Her stomach clenched, but she pretended to examine the title on a book cover, trying to look disinterested. "So? After he moves, we'll be seeing him every day, anyway."

"But it won't be the same! Come on, it'll be fun! We'll dance and sing and drink...! Oh, you should hear the rumors about the wine the King ordered! The first barrels have already arrived and are currently being stored in the palace's cellars, and more are due to arrive tomor-"

"I'll think about it, but I can't promise anything," she cut across his thrilled rambling.

Eglerion's face fell. "This is as good as admitting you have no intention to come," he mumbled, then huffed. "At least I tried..." He tried to appear nonchalant, but something was amiss - something beyond his disappointment about Maeloth's lack of interest about the feast. Once the bubbly cheerfulness was gone from his face, it became easier to discern the melancholy in his eyes.

She placed the book on the top of a pile and turned her whole attention to her friend, frowning.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Yeah, well..." he sighed and leaned against a shelf. His finger traced the back of a book. "The feast is something to look forward to, you know? Because, the truth is... I don't know how to put it... I guess I miss my old home."

"I thought you settled in nicely."

"Yes, it's just... I miss the high balconies and the breeze. It's hard to grow accustomed to the constant half-light. I know, things weren't great in the south lately, either," he chuckled without joy, "but being underground feels... different."

She watched his face and felt the overwhelming need to wipe the melancholic look from it. After all, this was Eglerion; not seeing him smile made her feel like something in the world was very,  _very_  wrong.

"Hey!" she said with put-up brightness, as if she had just come up with the greatest idea in the world. "How about we go exploring? Find us a nice chess spot?"

Eglerion looked up but did not cheer up just yet. "I thought you had work to do."

"It can wait," she waved an airy hand.

"Alright, then," he shrugged. "Want me to fetch a bottle of wine, too?"

"Sounds great."

"Ugh, not so great, actually," Eglerion shook his head with a faintly disgusted grimace. "I got a few bottles from a Laketown merchant yesterday, but it's merely passable. We'll have to wait for the feast to drink some decent wine."

This time Maeloth actually came up with an idea. She felt a smile spread across her lips, certain she'd just found the way to lift her friend's spirits.

"Why wait, though?" she asked slowly. Eglerion looked at her questioningly and she went on. "You said there's already some of the good wine in the King's cellars, right?"

Eglerion lifted an eyebrow. "What are you saying?"

"I bet we can sneak in and secure a couple of bottles," she said with a casual shrug.

"Are you crazy?" he laughed. "That stealing from the King!"

"If there's barrels of the stuff, no one's going to miss two bottles!"

Eglerion remained silent for a while, contemplating it. Just when she thought he'd dismiss her idea, a mischievous grin tugged at his lips, too.

"How about three bottles?" he proposed.

"Make them five."

His smile widened. "I'm in. So, how are we going to do it?"

According to Eglerion, there was at least one guard keeping watch at the cellars at all time. Reaching the cellars themselves would be relatively easy, thanks to their soldier status; the tough part would be managing to steal the wine unnoticed. Eglerion rambled on about various plans, one more outrageous than the other, until Maeloth placed a book in front of him and pointed to a specific passage on the page.

Eglerion read with a slight frown on his face. "A sleeping draught?"

Maeloth nodded, feeling rather proud of her knowledge about the library's contents.

"Isn't this dangerous?" Eglerion went on, eyeing the page with distrust.

"It is if taken in large quantities, but a sip will be enough for what we want to achieve," she said with confidence. She pointed back to the page and said, "There's one thing to pay heed to, though. This draught takes effect instantly, but does not last for long. It will give us no more than a few minutes."

"Hmm... That doesn't sound too bad. Between the two of us, I think we can make it."

"How are we going to make the guard drink it?"

"Oh..." Eglerion's grin turned devilish. "Don't you worry about that. Meet me at the entrance to the dungeons in one hour. Bring the draught - I'll bring some empty bottles. Don't be late!"

He winked at her and left, causing the tens of candle flames to flicker as he rushed to the door and out of sight.

Maeloth returned to the book with a satisfied smirk on her face; if Eglerion's vivacity was anything to go by, then her plan to cheer him up was already working.

She met him one hour later at the entrance to the dungeons, as he had instructed, clutching the little bottle that contained the sleeping draught. Eglerion was standing half-concealed behind and archway, with an armful of empty wine bottles. The moment he spotted her, he motioned her to approach.

"We are in luck! Crasserior is on guard duty tonight!" he whispered triumphantly. "Crasserior owes me, and I know exactly how to get him to drink the draught!"

The corridors leading to the cellars were mostly empty. They did not cross paths with many on their way down. The few Elves they met paid no heed to them, engrossed as they were in their own business, so Maeloth and Eglerion reached the entrance to the King's cellars undisturbed.

Outside the closed door, they paused. Maeloth passed Eglerion the tiny bottle with the draught and watched as he carefully emptied its contents in a flask that already contained some wine. She proceeded to take the armful of empty bottles and put a bit of distance between them. She stood with her back pressed against the wall and gave Eglerion a small nod.

He took a deep breath and gently knocked at the door.

She couldn't see what was going on from the spot where she was standing, but she made out a male voice that exclaimed happily, "Eglerion, long time no see! What brings you down here?"

"Crasserior, old friend!" she heard Eglerion's reply. Then the door of the cellar slammed shut and the corridor was plunged in silence.

Maeloth waited, looking out for any passers-by that might cause her trouble, but none appeared. Moments ticked by, during which she chewed at her lip anxiously. She considered pressing her ear against the door to eavesdrop, but that would cause them trouble in the instance that the door opened. She did dare to inch closer to the cellar door, though, to be ready to slip inside the moment Eglerion would give the cue to do so.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before the door creaked open and Eglerion's urgent whisper reached her.

"Maeloth! Come on in, he's asleep! Hurry!"

She scrambled in the cellar to find Eglerion laughing and leaning against a small table. Across from him, a tall, brown-haired Elf was fast asleep with his face on the polished wood.

"Keep an eye on him and whistle if he wakes up!" Maeloth said and hurried to the back of the room, towards an array of enormous barrels. She had time to fill four out of the five bottles she had carried along before she heard a sharp whistle. She gathered the bottles in her arms and rushed outside; she caught a glimpse of Crasserior stirring as she ran past him.

Once she was outside, she leaned against the wall next to the cellar, panting as quietly as she could. She made out Crasserior mumbling something indistinct before hearing Eglerion's loud laugh.

"I warned you, this wine is strong! You must have taken quite a big sip to make you this giddy. I'd better leave - the guard will change soon and I don't want my presence or my wine to cause you any trouble! How about we meet some other time, to talk and drink as much as we wish?"

A few minutes later, Eglerion and Maeloth were running across the winding palace corridors, each of them carrying two bottles and laughing their heads off. They ended up in an empty watchtower, where they collapsed against the stone wall to catch their breaths.

"We did it!" Eglerion giggled, patting Maeloth's shoulder.

"I can't believe you pulled it off!" she beamed, looking at him with newfound respect.

"Oh, it was easy! He was bored to death, so he was ready to welcome any distraction. Come on! Let's reap the rewards of our endeavor!"

He uncorked a bottle and passed it to Maeloth before opening one for himself. They clinked their bottles and drank. The moment the sweet wine touched their tongues, they let out delighted hums. They did not bother to set the pieces for a game of chess, as they were planning to; they simply sat on the stone floor, with their backs against the wall, laughing and drinking without a care in the world.

She might have come up with the whole wine-stealing operation in an effort to lift Eglerion's spirits, but she ended up feeling better than she had in a long time, too. So, when Eglerion asked her - in-between drunk giggles - if she would go to the feast after all, she laughed heartily and clinked her bottle to his.

"Yes, I will."

* * *

Eglerion had been one of the first to learn and share the news about the feast but, on the very next day, the King made sure that no one would be left in the dark. The royal spokesmen roamed the capital to announce the upcoming event and officially invite every Elf.

Soon excitement was palpable all throughout the city. Preparations were set off immediately and kept everyone busy for the whole week. Seamstresses, carpenters and cooks worked in a frenzy; barrels full of wine and mead arrived every day and were stored in the palace's cellars, while carriages with fruit, wheat and honey came from both Laketown and western Rhovanion. The festive vibe spread to all corners of the capital, making it hard for anyone to keep a straight face, even days before the actual event.

Against Maeloth's expectations, the prospect of the feast excited Belegorn. The relocation had worked wonders on his mood. He did not resemble at all the cold, impassive man Maeloth had gotten to know. He did not touch the books he so much liked to pretend to read and he never spent more than half an hour sitting down. He always found something to occupy himself with, however small, and he seemed to have a particular fondness for plants and flowers. His previous reluctance to socialize dissipated entirely - he even joined in the preparations, helping decorate the clearing in which the feast would be held.

Midsummer's eve arrived, sunny and warm. At the break of dawn, songs filled the Elven caves; by noon, delicious smells wafted out of the palace's kitchens, making the mouths of the passers-by water. The feast was to be held outside, in a large clearing in the forest, so Elves were hurrying in and out of the caves all day long, carrying everything from furniture to cutlery.

Belegorn helped Maeloth braid her hair up to a hairstyle different than her usual, since his fingers were more adept in such tasks. They both changed into their festive clothing, with Maeloth wearing a dress for what felt like the first time in forever.

The festivities would begin right after sunset so, in late afternoon, they left their chambers and headed to the forest. As they crossed the caves, a few orange rays of sunlight wafted in through the airvents, warning them that sunset was close. Many groups of Elves were making their way to the forest, already singing and laughing. Maeloth and Belegorn joined the crowd and followed them out of the gates and along a path that winded among the trees.

It was a beautiful evening. The air was warm and laden with the scent of young leaves and wild flowers. As they walked, the sound of laughter and song grew louder. When music reached their ears, everyone's pace turned brisk and lively. The path they followed started climbing up a smooth slope and the tantalizing smell of roasted meat, spices, fresh bread and sweet wine reached their nostrils.

They practically jogged the remaining distance until they broke out of the line of trees and stepped in a huge clearing. There, they froze, unable to do more than take in their surroundings.

Most of the Elves of the capital were gathered in that clearing. Their hair gleamed in the light of numerous blazing fires; the colors of the flowers on their heads mingled with the orange glow of the flames, the gems on their clothes sparkled. Torches were fastened on the tree trunks all around the clearing while, overhead, the stars were twinkling, their light growing stronger as the sky darkened. Heavily-laden tables stood next to rows and rows of barrels. The sound of harps and flutes accompanied the merry songs that echoed all around. A carved throne, decorated with leaves and flowers, stood waiting at the far edge of the clearing, with a few smaller but no less intricately decorated chairs next to it.

"Maeloth!"

Eglerion's excited cry was loud enough to be heard over the music and the happy hum of numerous conversations. He was making his way towards them with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. His hair was adorned with leaves and flowers and he was already holding a goblet full of wine.

"I had started thinking you weren't going to show up!" he said when he reached them. He took a few seconds to greet Belegorn with a small bow, which the latter returned politely. Then Eglerion's eyes scanned Maeloth from head to toe and he let out a low whistle. "I don't think I've seen you in a dress before! You look so different!"

She raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Different good or different bad?"

Eglerion beamed at her. "Positively radiant!"

She laughed at his response. "Thank you! You look beautiful, too," she pointed at Eglerion's embroidered tunic and the wreath on his head. Just as she uttered these words, she felt a small twinge of unease and threw a cautious glance at Belegorn, expecting to find him pouting or even angry. He was neither; he was merely watching the exchange with an amused expression on his face.

She inwardly berated herself for being so paranoid and turned her attention back to Eglerion, who was saying something about 'beautiful' being his default state and how glad he was that Maeloth had finally decided to step up her game.

Belegorn laughed at that, while Maeloth pretended to scowl. "Stop messing with me."

"Oh, but look!" Eglerion exclaimed theatrically and pointed at her braided hair. "That does not look like your handiwork! I don't think you're the one to take the credit for your beauty!"

"No, Belegorn braided them for me."

"You should teach her," Eglerion said to her brother, who raised his hands in a resigned gesture.

"She's impossible to teach, trust me!"

"Alright, you two!" Maeloth said sternly, but it was obvious that she was trying to suppress a smile. "Can we stop laughing at my expense and go get some wine?"

"Oh yes, you should definitely try the wine, my friend!" Eglerion said. He raised his goblet to Belegorn and smiled conspiratorially. "And, in case you have any reservations, your sister can vouch for its quality! She's already tasted more than her fair share of it! As have I, I must admit."

"What?" Belegorn asked, his look somewhere between amusement and bewilderment.

"Long story," she sighed.

"Not really," Eglerion piped up, looking more than willing to recount the wine-stealing event.

Thankfully, King Thanduil chose that moment to enter the clearing, with his son at his side and his escort behind him. The music and conversations ceased as thhe King took his place before his throne.

The King was truly dazzling, his hair like shimmering gold topped with a crown of silver branches. When he smiled, the warmth and genuine delight of his expression reached every Elf in the clearing. He opened his arms and spoke in a voice that rang with joy.

"Welcome! Welcome, everybody, to our new home! Welcome to the Woodland Realm of the north!"

Mirthful cheers filled the clearing and the King's smile widened.

"It gives me great joy to see you all gathered here. Some of you have already been living here for some time now. To you, I hope that you have settled in and found everything to your liking. To those of you who arrived today, I'm glad that you are finally with us!" At this point he turned to prince Legolas with a look of adoration on his fair face. Father and son hugged each other while cries of  _'Welcome!'_  pierced the air.

The King turned back to his subordinates and the bustle died out again.

"Tonight, we celebrate double, since this night marks both the middle of summer and the completion of our successful relocation!" He proceeded to explain the importance of said relocation and stress how important defense and safety was. He thanked the troops that protected the old capital until the last minute, but he also reminded everyone that, even though they were further from harm now, the threat of the enemy was still very much alive - something that Maeloth couldn't agree more with. "But let us not dampen out spirits with talk of shadow! Tonight we celebrate! Let us feast! Let us sing and drink and dance!"

He raised his goblet. Everybody mimicked him; hundreds of goblets were raised, gleaming in the light of the torches. The music started again and the sound of clear voices rose to join it.

"Come on!" Eglerion shouted. "Let's go fill your goblets before all the good wine is gone!"

"I gathered that you have an interesting story concerning said wine," Belegorn said with a cheeky smile, glancing from Eglerion to his sister.

"Yes, we do!" Eglerion laughed. "Maeloth, will you do the honors or shall I?"

Maeloth hesitated, since she was really not up for a lecture by Belegorn. On the other hand, Belegorn did not look remotely likely to start lecturing her; his look was not that of the stern older brother, but that of someone curious and eager to hear an amusing story.

For the second time that night, Maeloth scolded herself for being unreasonably anxious over Belegorn's behavior. As they made their way to the other side of the clearing, where the barrels of wine stood next to tables full of goblets, she allowed herself to relax. By the time they had finished filling their goblets, she was halfway through her narration of the wine incident.

Eglerion kept laughing and nodding as she spoke, adding a thing or two whenever needed. By the end of the story, Belegorn was staring at the pair of them incredulously.

He took a sip from his goblet and made an appreciative sound. "Well, sister, we don't agree often, but this time I can't blame you! This wine is delicious!"

"Indeed it is!" Eglerion cried, clinking his goblet to Belegorn's. "Cheers!"

"Do you have any more stories to share?" he asked. Eglerion nodded with enthusiasm and wrapped an arm around Belegorn's shoulders.

"Hundreds! You'd better brace yourself!"

Maeloth watched them with a sense of unease she couldn't fully justify. The only reason she could point to with certainty was that this was new to her. Belegorn might be an entirely different person than what he was in the south, but she half-expected him to slip back into his usual self any second. She didn't want to see him turn cold and distant again, but she couldn't help looking for the tell-tale signs on his face.

She found none. Belegorn kept laughing to Eglerion's stories with cheeks tinted rosy with life. He drank and conversed with ease and a relaxed smile. Had she been a stranger, meeting him for the first time that night, she would never guess that this was a man who could easily slip into days of catatonia, shutting himself away from everything this world had to offer. A man out of whom one could hardly coax a tiny smile, let alone a laugh.

Well, she could get used to this new version of Belegorn. She would be happy to, actually. The more she heard him laugh and joke, the more she realized... He would be alright. He was fine, and he would get even better - they both would. She could stop worrying. She could breathe. Finally, she could.

She smiled and felt her heart lighter than it had been in weeks, months - perhaps forever. She closed her eyes, listening to the music, the laughter, the mirthful voices. She let them wash the last of her worries away.

When she turned back to Belegorn and Eglerion, she was smiling widely.

"Eglerion," she said, cutting into the narration of yet another dramatic event, "have you met the rest of our unit yet?"

"I think I caught a glimpse of Tunir, but I haven't talked to them yet. Hey, Belegorn, have you met you sister's brothers-in-arms?" When he shook his head, Eglerion grabbed him by the arm with enthusiasm and dragged him along, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. They spotted a group of their comrades and greeted each other with delighted cries. Maeloth introduced Belegorn to them, and he smiled and bowed to everyone.

The night was alight with bright smiles. Maeloth hadn't realized how much she'd missed everyone until she met them again. They laughed and teased each other and sang; she joined in their jokes, and it was so easy and pleasant.

Why had she been keeping herself away from this...?

She looked around at this landscape of happiness and music, wishing she could keep this moment, freeze it in time and keep it alive. She felt light-headed, and it wasn't because of the wine.

There was only one thing missing. One person.

And she spotted him, just as she thought of him: Morfindir was a few feet away, talking to general Daeron.

Even from afar, the sight of him had a unique effect on her. For a few seconds, all sounds died out and her world grew quiet. All other shapes faded in the background -nothing but meaningless colors and shadows. The only movement that mattered was that of his lips as he spoke. His hair was loose and sleek like silk, capturing both the deepest shadows of the night and the brilliance of the starlight. He was clad in green and silver, and the resolute black of his eyes was the only calm spot in a sea of swirling distractions.

The memory of a conversation on a high tower came back to her: Eglerion, with his legs dangling off the balustrade, asking her how she felt about her captain. Back then, she hadn't been able to give him an answer. All she had said was that she was not indifferent - which was more of a pathetic excuse for an answer than an actual one.

Apparently, it took four months away from him, absorbed in books and the same thoughts circling in her head, for her to realize how much different everything looked when he was in the picture.

She tried to sort out the feelings that were pooling in her. Joy. Affection. Nervousness. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

She supposed she now had an answer to Eglerion's question.

Her heart thrummed against her ribcage. Her mouth was so dry that she emptied her cup without even thinking about it. She couldn't tell why her palms were so sweaty when all she had done was look at him from afar.

...Perhaps she ought to go and talk to him.

And say what?

She could greet him, for starters. Ask him how were the past few months in the south. Ask about the situation there. These weren't particularly festive topics, but they were good enough to start a conversation - or so she hoped.

She took another big breath to prepare herself, but still did not move. Even facing giant spiders did not seem  _this_  daunting.

Somebody nudged her gently in the ribs and she almost jumped. She turned to find Eglerion's green eyes piercing her with a knowing look. He gave her an encouraging smile and a slight push towards Morfindir's direction.

A different anguish took hold of her, rooting her to the spot. She glanced around, looking for Belegorn.

He was close, but his attention was not on her; he was talking to two beautiful ladies that were listening to him with rapt interest. Maeloth blinked to make sure that she was seeing straight. She recognized one of the women - her name was Ríniel and she was a fighter under lord Adan's command. She did not recognize the other one, but she looked too absorbed in whatever Belegorn was saying; she wouldn't tear her huge, honey-colored eyes from his face.

Maeloth tried to suppress a laugh. No need to fuss, then; he was in good company.

"I'll keep an eye on him, don't worry," Eglerion whispered and pushed her forward more decisively. "Go."


	18. The Taste Of Blood

She took a deep breath and started walking towards Morfindir, feeling her heart pulse in the base of her throat.

She was halfway there when Morfindir turned around and spotted her. His eyes immediately lit up; the edges of his lips curled into a smile. He said something to general Daeron, gave him a hasty bow and left to make his way towards Maeloth.

She hadn't realized she had frozen in her steps until he reached her. He smiled and the rest of the world disappeared again.

"Good evening, Maeloth," he said with a deep bow.

"Good evening, captain," she replied breathlessly. "Welcome, umm... Welcome home."

"It's good to finally be here." His voice was sweeter than the music that painted the air. "How have you been?"

"I should be the one asking you this, captain," she said timidly. "You were in the south, in the heart of danger, fighting-"

"Oh, but we don't have to talk about fighting tonight, have we? I'm more interested in hearing about how you've been doing."

"Umm... I've been fine, captain." Her throat still felt strangely dry; she regretted not having refilled her cup.

"How do you like your new home?"

"It's great. Everything is beautiful. But, captain, please tell me - what had it been like in the south ever since I left? Has the enemy-?"

"Maeloth," Morfindir interrupted with a soft chuckle. "Please, stop calling me  _'captain'_. Tonight I'm not here as your captain, and you're not here as a soldier. We can leave these formalities aside for now."

She blinked, then stammered, and then became very aware of her cheeks burning. "Alright, cap- I mean, Morfindir." It had been more than a year ever since she'd started calling him exclusively by his title, and now his name sounded strange on her lips. Strange, and beautiful.

A memory came unbidden; that of the last time they were alone together. They had been on a corridor in the old capital and immersed in heated disagreement. It had been months ago, but the scene hovered in her mind. She wondered whether she should apologize about the disrespect she had shown back then, but... He was smiling so sweetly that she did not want to darken their mood with a reference to that time. After all, they were in a feast, and in new place. And she had an answer now, one that made everything so much more straightforward. This could be the opportunity for a fresh start.

The thought made excitement rush through her, along with something that felt like butterflies in her stomach. She felt in dire need to refresh her parched throat, so she lifted her goblet and said, "How about some wine?"

"Sure," Morfindir smiled.

They both went to fill their goblets and drank, with Maeloth gulping down more than she would normally do, for the sake of washing her anxiousness away. She used the brief silence to ponder over topics for a conversation that wouldn't include fighting or talk about spiders and borders and threats of the military kind, but she couldn't come up with something. Her mind was frustratingly blank.

What she really wanted was to find a way to determine whether Morfindir had as much interest in her as she had in him. Sure, Eglerion's suspicions were one thing, but she had to make sure before doing anything... braver. She didn't want to risk disrespecting her captain again.

In the center of the clearing many Elves were dancing, in couples or in circles. The music perked up and more joined in, accompanied by laughs and claps. Morfindir set down his goblet and turned to Maeloth with a huge grin.

"Would you like to dance?"

She broke out of her reverie with a start. "What?" she breathed, unsure whether she had heard correctly.

"Would you grant me this dance?" he asked again, his smile unwavering.

Well, if she wanted a clear sign of Morfindir's interest, this was one. Too clear a sign, even. She wasn't prepared for something like this; all she expected was a conversation and a few laughs, at best. "Captain..." she started, but he interjected again.

"Not  _'captain'_. Not tonight."

His words sent a shiver of fear through her body, but it was unlike any fear she had previously experienced. This one was sweet and thrilling, full of anticipation. Even so, there remained a tweak of actual anxiousness, caused by sudden awareness of the crowd around them, of the eyes that would see, of the title of the man before her and her own lack of one.

She tried to not let the charm in his smile shake her. She might have no interest about what people would say about  _her_ , but she couldn't let Morfindir act so thoughtlessly. He had a reputation to uphold. "You are still my captain, and this would be... inappropriate," she reminded him in a low voice.

"I don't care," he said simply, something daring stirring in his eyes. He extended his hand, waiting, but she didn't take it.

She glanced around, aware of every Elf in the clearing.

"No, captain, I mean- Everybody will see us, and you can't be seen with a mere soldier, it wouldn't be-"

"Maeloth," he cut across her agitated rant. His eyes pierced her like arrows, burning straight into her soul. "I don't care," he repeated firmly.

She gulped, looking at his face. There was certainty in his eyes. He was silently assuring her that he knew what he was asking for and what it would entail. He knew about the etiquette, the unwritten rules, the rumors that would spread, the criticism that was likely to come. He knew, and he had nothing but disregard for all of this.

Before this look, all of her reservations, all of her concerns, all of her excuses crumbled. She smiled.

She set her goblet down, too, and took his hand. His warm fingers closed around hers and he led her to the center of the clearing, among the swirling couples. He bowed to her and she returned the gesture, therefore allowing him to place his hands on her.

She did not know the steps of that particular dance, but following Morfindir's lead was simple enough. After having taught her how to fight, teaching her to dance was infinitely easier.

As soon as she started ignoring everybody else and listened to nothing but the music, her feet livened up. She stepped around him, hands touching, then arms, then shoulders, and away again. The dance seemed like a game, or a chase. She laughed when he lifted her in the air, feeling her heart as light as the breeze that carried the music over the tops of the trees. When she spun, the stars spun overhead. She laughed again when he wrapped his arms around her, strong and warm and certain, before letting her go again to resume the game.

He was beautiful; so beautiful that it made her heart ache and her fingers brave, refusing to let him from their grip. He was smiling as she'd never seen him before, and she lost herself in that smile. Her skin crawled every time his fingers closed around her waist. She wondered whether he could feel the jolts that traveled though her body at his touch. Perhaps he could, because with every music note his hands grew bolder. The next time they closed around her waist, they didn't let go again. He held on to her until the song ended and the crowd applauded.

When he finally released her, she swayed, giddy with happiness. He bowed politely to thank her for the dance and looked at her, panting slightly but still beaming. "You're not tired yet, are you?"

She shook her head fervently, sure that her own smile was stupidly wide.

"Then, how about one more dance?"

Her heart gave a triumphant thud.

"I'd be gla-"

Her sentence was cut in half as a hand seized her arm and tugged at her violently. The force of the pull spun her around and she lost Morfindir from her gaze. She staggered, disoriented, and heard Belegorn's voice somewhere close to her ear.

"There you are."

She regained her balance and straightened to find herself looking straight into her brother's face.

The moment she set eyes on him, she knew something was wrong. There was no distinct emotion prevailing his expression, but she knew him well enough to know that this was not a good sign. His hand was clutching at her arm so hard it hurt.

"I was wondering where you'd ran off to," he said dispassionately. Then his gaze slipped past her and settled on Morfindir. "I see you met your captain. How nice," he said, but nothing in his voice indicated that he found this  _nice_. Nothing indicated that he felt anything at all.

"Good evening, Belegorn," Morfindir said, ever polite.

One of Belegorn's eyebrows twitched, but that was the only reaction in his dead mask of a face. He did not return the greeting. His eyes turned back to Maeloth instead. He stared at her, causing all joy and excitement to gradually seep out of her limbs.

"If you wanted to dance, you should have said so," he said. His fingers bit into her flesh.

Her brain screamed at her in alarm. His face was so passive that he did not look like it, but he was angry. She could tell.

"Well..." she started, trying to come up with the right thing to say. "You were busy. And, frankly, you seemed to be in good company, so I thought you wouldn't mind if I left you on your-"

"I'm not busy now. Come on, let's dance."

Before she had a chance to realize what was happening, he started dragging her away from Morfindir and into the dancing crowd.

"Wha-? Hey!" she exclaimed, glancing from Belegorn to her - very surprised - captain and back. Belegorn squeezed past many companies and dancing couples, pulling at Maeloth's arm roughly to make her keep up. "What are you-? Hey, let go!" she protested as she fought against his grip.

Belegorn did not let go, and she grew angrier by the second. When she finally managed to wrestle her arm free, she took a step away and glared at him, rubbing her arm. "What in Elbereth's name are you doing?"

Belegorn squared his shoulders and gave her a haughty look.

"You can thank me later," he said calmly.

"Thank-?" she started in a high-pitched voice, but toned it down immediately so as not to attract the attention of the people around them. "Are you out of your mind?" she whispered through gritted teeth.

"No, but it seems that  _you_  are, letting him touch you like that."

His cold reply left her momentarily stunned, but she got over it quickly. Her brows knit together in a harsh angle and she jabbed a finger at his chest. "What I do is none of your business!"

Belegorn gave her a long and calculating look, as if he was trying to determine something. In the end he narrowed his eyes and asked in a low voice, "How much have you had to drink?"

She blinked, completely taken aback. "What?"

"You don't seem sober enough to be making decisions for yourself. I think we should go home," he stated and tried to grab her arm again.

"No!" she snarled and pushed his hand away. "I'm not going anywhere! Stop trying to make it seem as if I'm in no position to think-"

"You clearly aren't!" Belegorn raised his voice.

"Now, listen to me-"

"Maeloth, is there a problem?" another voice cut into their banter.

She turned around to see that Morfindir had caught up with them. The smile was gone from his face, too, and he had assumed his 'captain' look: authoritative, sharp, and directed at Belegorn. The latter opened his mouth before Maeloth had a chance to.

"Nothing that requires your immediate assistance, thank you," Belegorn said coldly.

Maeloth felt such a great rush of embarrassment that all she could do was stammer, "Captain, I'm- I'm sorry, I'm so- so sorry!" Then her head whipped around to glare at Belegorn. "Belegorn, stop talking and go. Now!"

"I refuse to leave you unprotected when you're in no state to-"

It took all of her self-control to not start shouting in his infuriatingly dispassionate face. "I was in a great state until you decided to barge in!"

"And yet, I'm hardly the obtrusive one here," Belegorn said, throwing a poignant and thoroughly repulsed look at Morfindir.

Morfindir's brows furrowed in a perplexed expression. "It seems that your observational skills are somewhat lacking, since it was  _your_  grip Maeloth was trying to get away from, not mine."

Belegorn took a menacing step towards Morfindir, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Don't you dare talk to me like that, you smug bastard!"

The insult cut the air and made Maeloth's blood drain from her face. She opened her mouth to shout at her brother, but her tongue was paralyzed in her mouth. In the second she stood numb with shock and incredulity, Belegorn went on.

"I know what game you're playing at, and I won't let you play it with my sister!"

"Belegorn!"

Her voice finally found its way out of her throat, but a hand stopped her from saying more. Morfindir leaned towards her and addressed to her in calm and measured tones. "Maeloth, it seems to me that your brother is in obvious disorientation. Should we find someone to escort him back to-?"

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER!"

Belegorn's voice rang in the air and silence fell all around. The couples closest to them paused mid-dancing and stared at them in curiosity.

Maeloth's face might as well have exploded in shame. Thankfully, the music still carried on - she wouldn't bear it if their yelling startled the musicians into silence, too. She did not need the attention of the whole clearing on them; they had attracted enough stares as it were.

Through the numbness of shock and the horror for her brother's behavior, one thought registered. She had to take Belegorn out of there, fast. There was no other way out of this. The more she let him at her captain's presence, the worse things would turn.

He was glowering at Morfindir, ready to spit more threats, but Maeloth got between them as fast as she could. She seized both of Belegorn's arms, just to keep him still in case he tried to move or push her aside. She'd love to start shouting at him, but her embarrassment and her desire to make amends with her captain took the better of her. She made sure to secure her grip on Belegorn and turned her head to shoot an imploring look at Morfindir over her shoulder.

"Captain, I'm sorry for this, I'm so, so-"

"Don't you apologize to  _him_!" Belegorn snapped.

Her head spun around so fast that, this time, he flinched.

"Shut your mouth. You've said more than enough," she growled, and there was no mistaking of the hardly restrained anger in her voice.

She struggled to keep her reactions civil because everyone's eyes in a fifteen-feet radius were on them, but she could not hide the trembling of her hands. She started pushing Belegorn forward, towards the edge of the clearing and away from Morfindir. The threw one last glance at her captain and mouthed a few more apologies, even though she knew that nothing she said could make up for her brother had said.

Morfindir's look was grim as he watched them walk away, but he gave Maeloth one small nod, indicating that he accepted her apology.

With one last imploring look, she teared her gaze away from him, latched on Belegorn's arm firmly and pulled him along with her. People made way for them to pass, adding to her embarrassment. She did not know whether she would prefer to start yelling at Belegorn right then and there to vent her building anger, or for the earth to open up and swallow her.

She elbowed her way through the crowd, mumbling less apologies than were due, and inwardly wished for Eglerion not to appear before her now because she could just tear him apart.  _'I'll keep an eye on him'_... She'd have to explain to him a thing or two about how  _'keeping an eye on someone'_  worked.

She let out an exasperated grunt and tugged at Belegorn, even though he wasn't resisting. They stumbled out of the clearing and down the path that led to the main gates of the caves. Once the music and the noise died away, she let go of his arm but did not slow her pace down.

"I can't believe you," she said in a low voice. She did not turn to look at him, but she knew he had heard her, since his steps were following her closely.

He scoffed at her remark. She closed her eyes and tried to resist the urge to turn around and slap him.

No. There were still Elves around, strolling lazily among the trees. She would not allow herself to be more embarrassed in front of third parties. They would go home, close the door, and the Elbereth help her idiot of a brother.

She was shaking from head to toe and was walking so fast that they covered the distance to the gates in record time. They crossed the empty underground roads, going straight for the west edge of the city.

She was so angry that her mind had gone numb. Her thoughts were nothing more than fragmented replays of the scene that had took place a few minutes ago. Shame burned in her, almost as strong as her anger - the echo of Belegorn's words fueled these two feelings to the point she felt she would explode with the intensity of it.

_'Smug bastard.'_

_'I know what game you're playing at.'_

_'Get your hands off of her.'_

She opened the door to their place, motioned Belegorn inside and slammed the door behind them. She stood across from him with lips pressed tightly together, while he returned her stare with a scowl of his own.

"What in Eru's name were you thinking?" she asked; she managed to keep her voice level, but she knew it wouldn't last. Her rage was close to a boiling point.

Belegorn retained his haughty posture. "Was I supposed to let my sister fool around and embarrass herself like a drunk-?"

"First off," she cut him sharply, voice finally losing its cool, "none of this is your business. How much I drink, what I do, and with whom, is my business and  _my business alone!_ "

Her voice echoed in the spacious rooms of their new home. Belegorn stood unflinching.

"As your brother, I have the right to intervene and-"

"You have no right to meddle with my life! None whatsoever!" she shouted.

Belegorn's look turned icy. "Is that so? I'll remember that the next time you seek my comfort, or the next time I will consider saving you from a band of Orcs-"

"Don't you bring this up," she hissed and, despite the anger that was rippling through her body, she felt her face blanch. "You know that this is not what I'm talking about, don't you- don't you try and turn this into something else."

"I'm not. But it seems you forget I've always been looking out for you. That is all I've ever done, and yet you complain now!"

"How does what you did earlier in any way qualify as  _'looking out for me'_?" she screeched in exasperation.

"Are you really so blind? Can't you see he's toying with you?"

" _'Toying'_?" she chortled. "Have you gone mad, brother?"

"It is you who's been blinded by his charming smile and his title-"

"His title had nothing to do with anything!" she shouted, not quite able to stomach that he believed she was interested in such a thing as a  _title_. "Why does he bother you so much, anyway? You never act like this when I spend hours with Eglerion-"

"Eglerion does not look at you in the same way that  _he_  does," Belegorn replied darkly. "Or have you not noticed that, either? Their intentions about you are quite distinct."

At this she fell silent, opening and closing her mouth with no reply coming out. Had she been the last to acknowledge Morfindir's interest, after all? Had everybody else noticed, too? After tonight, they certainly had. Embarrassment tugged at her again, but it was quickly doused by her anger. Whatever Morfindir's intentions were, they were none of Belegorn's business. After all, her brother had no right to act so high and mighty when his behavior had caused her trouble on more than one occasions.

She narrowed her eyes at Belegorn and did not prevent contempt from creeping in her voice. "Whereas you claim to have 'good intentions'?"

It was Belegorn's turn to turn pale, looking anxious all of a sudden.

"For you, embarrassing me in front of everyone counts as  _'good intentions'_?" she went on with a sneering laugh.

He regained his composure fast, the dark scowl returning to his face.

"Everything I do, I do with your well-being in mind, whereas all you ever think about is yourself," he spat.

Her face contorted in outrage. "Myself?" she repeated in a shrill voice. "Myself?! That's brave, coming from someone that never gets off his damn chair! At least, I enlisted in order to protect this kingdom! I try to do something that will benefit everyone! What do you do, besides staying inside and sulking-?"

"Please, Maeloth!" he snapped, raising his voice to match that of his sister's. "You are just selfish! Nothing more, nothing less!"

Even under all the layers of blinding rage and exasperation, the word hurt.

"I am a fighter and a soldier," she hissed. "I risk my life for the kingdom and you dare to-"

"Drop the pretense," Belegorn cut across her. The muscles on his face were hard; his gaze was an icy blade.

" _Pretense-?!_ "

"Yes, Maeloth! Pretense!" he shouted. "Stop trying to appear noble! You don't fight for the kingdom! You don't even fight for our dead family! Do you even remember their names?"

The question threw her so off that she froze with her mouth half-open. Panic surged through her, because she knew that she did not remember - not their names, not their faces, not clearly enough-

"You fight for yourself, so that you don't feel useless and powerless!" Belegorn went on without waiting for an answer to his previous question; perhaps he knew he wasn't getting one. "You fight to make yourself feel better! Because it feeds your ego! You felt useless once and, ever since you've been obsessed with proving that you're not, that you are-"

"I've been obsessed with trying to make up for it!"

"You've been obsessed with revenge! Cold-blooded, calculated revenge! This is not righteousness, this is just hate and thirst for blood-"

"Shut your mouth!" Maeloth screamed, shaking. "You don't know- you don't-"

" _I_  don't know?! I've seen what you read! I see the books you bring home from that library! I can tell what you're planning!"

"And yet you dare to call me  _selfish_? When I try to make everything better for everyone?"

"Don't act as if that's what's on your mind," he scoffed.

"How would you know what's in my mind?"

Belegorn laughed; harshly, coldly.

"Do not insult my intelligence, sister. All you've ever thought of is yourself. That much is obvious."

"How dare you?" she shouted , trying to drown out his words and his voice and all that they implied. "When I'm doing everything for you? When I'm protecting you, providing for you, doing everything I can  _for you_?!"

"None of the things you do, you do for me!" his voice turned hoarse. "You never did! All I ever was was your excuse! A reason to present to others so as to not let your true colors show, to not have to admit what you truly want-"

His words were etching imprints on her brain, filling her with dread and despair and-

They couldn't be true. He did not know what he was talking about.

"I abandoned my post and my unit to move north, so that you would be safer!" she tried to counter-attack.

"You moved when you had no other choice!" Belegorn roared. "You kept me south until they took your precious books from you! You didn't move for me, you moved so that you could keep working on whatever it is you're planning!"

She wanted to reply to that, but there was no denying the truth in what he said. Her mind was hurting where his words had cut her.

"And yet you still dare to use me as your excuse," he went on relentlessly, each word cutting deeper than the previous one, "you still dare to say that you do everything for me, when all I've ever been to you was something to  _use_ -"

"Stop!"

"-you are both selfish and insecure, a wannabe soldier with a thirst for blood and power-"

"Belegorn, shut up!"

"-that doesn't even have the guts to see herself for who she really is and keeps coming up with pathetic excuse after pathetic excuse-"

She punched him in the face, hard. She didn't pause to consider it twice; she just brought her fist on his jaw with all the strength training and fighting had granted her body, not caring to hold back, not caring whether she hurt him because that was all she wanted at the moment - she wanted to hurt him, pay him back for his words, silence him-

She felt her knuckles collide with the bone of his jaw, she felt the impact ripple through her arm for just a second before Belegorn's head rolled to the side with the force of her blow. The air exited his lungs with a muffled grunt and he swayed, a hand clutching at the spot where her fist had hit him.

After a couple of steps backwards, he managed to steady himself. He stood still, six feet away from her, almost doubled over, shoulders slouched and head hanging low. His hair had fallen in front of his face like a curtain, hiding it from Maeloth, but she could tell that his hand was still clutching at his face.

She stared, breathing hard. There was such a loud ringing in her ears she thought her head would burst with it. Her knuckles throbbed.

Belegorn did not move, but she could hear his breathing. Non-existent at first, and then coming out sharp. Sharper. Fast.

He lowered his hand from his face and something glistened on his fingers. Blood.

He lifted his head slowly, deliberately. Brown locks of hair slipped out of the way, revealing patches of skin, sharp brows, burning eyes. A bloodied mouth, twisted into a grimace of fury.

He fixed his dark eyes on her, breathing loudly through his nose, chest rising and falling rapidly. Anger crystallized in his eyes. His body shook. His exhales shook.

There was a second of pure silence, a second when time stopped and they were just two frozen bodies across from each other, staring. No thoughts. No reactions. No feelings beyond rage and pain.

Then Belegorn moved, shattering the stillness into a thousand little pieces. His figure sliced the air between them decisively. His hands grabbed her face. His lips smashed on hers.

And time stopped again.

The world dissolved. The room they were standing into, the walls, the columns, the caves, the clearing where the feast carried on, the whole Forest just ceased to exist. She was no longer standing with two firm feet on the ground; there was no ground. No world.

Just lips. On hers. Moving.

Fingers dug into her hair. They tugged her head back and her lips parted.

She tasted a breath that wasn't her own fill her mouth. She tasted lips. She tasted a tongue. She tasted blood.

The mouth that was on hers was harsh, demanding. Greedy teeth captured her bottom lip. Somehow her ears made out a hiss and a quiet moan. A tongue was back in her mouth, needy and aggressive. Feral.

The taste -  _oh, Eru_ , the taste. The scent.

Belegorn. Blood.

Blood, tangy and metallic and sharp, mingling with the breath that meant warmth and comfort and arms around her, pines and brown hair gleaming in the sunshine, home and calm nights and pain and want and  _pain_ -

She tried to inhale and the taste overwhelmed her. She heard another sound, something like a whimper, but she wasn't sure which one had made it. Harsh breathing drowned it out. Her tongue brushed against the invading one.

The blood was hot. Scorching her.

Belegorn's blood that she had drawn out. Her brother's blood. Her blood.

Her eyes flew open and light burned her retinas. The fragmented world took shape. The walls of the caves rose around her again. Outside, the trees of the Forest towered high, swaying in the breeze. The Elves danced in a clearing close by. Too close. All of them. Closing in.

She pushed Belegorn off of her with such force that they both staggered backwards. Her lungs cleared from their mingled breaths. The ground was back under her feet.

She took one deep breath after the other. The air tingled against her wet lips, like the ghost of a presence. It sent a shiver down the length of her spine.

Belegorn stood where her push drove him. He was panting as hard as she was. His eyes were fixed on hers, darker than usual: black pupils stretched over the brown irises, almost extinguishing the color. Blood had smeared his lips. He lifted a hand that trembled violently to wipe at them, but that was just about all the movement he made.

She looked into those abnormally dark eyes, into that face that she knew so well. The face she had memorized down to the smallest dimple, the face that prevailed in her dreams even after all the other faces had been erased from her memories. The face that had always been next to her. Always.

And it hit her, with a force that nearly stopped her heart. Belegorn had just kissed her. And she had kissed him.

She kept looking into his eyes, uncomprehending. An anguish crept up on her, starting from the toes of her feet and travelling up towards her heart, making her skin crawl and every fine hair stand. It was the agitating sense of something... being amiss. Something that was eluding her. Something that she should feel, thoughts that should rake her mind, but weren't. She commanded her brain to function, but it just mocked her.

She did not know. She could not define what it was that eluded her, because at that moment all she could think of was that this man before her was Belegorn, and that his lips had been on hers a minute ago.

Like they'd been so close to doing before. Through her mind flashed an image of months ago; an image of Belegorn holding her face and kissing her cheeks. Then the image of him reflected in a mirror as her undressed her. The image of him over the rim of a bathtub, of those hands sinking under the surface of the water to rub her skin.

The shiver that ran over her this time gathered at the base of her spine, pooled and coiled into something heated. The anguish pressed against her skull, like a vice tightening its grip, but she tried to block it out. She tried to remember how many times his mouth had danced close to hers before. And yet, she had never thought... She had never even considered that it would ever become more. That an actual kiss would come from these lips.

But it had. And she did not know why.

And now the anguish exploded into something completely different, because suddenly she knew what that uneasy feeling was. There was something that she was  _expected_  to say and do. There was something that was considered an acceptable reaction.

She thought she could sense the proximity of the other Elves, sense their presence around them, too close for her liking. She felt watched, like an eye was staring at her from afar, piercing the rock of the caves and her flesh and looking under her skin, deep into the dark recesses of her mind that moved in unease.

She wanted to block them out, block out everyone and everything, because this did not concern them. This was between Belegorn and her. And what she needed were answers from him, and him alone.

But Belegorn did not speak. He simply waited, eyes trained on her. He waited for her to react first.

She could still _taste him_.

The silence threatened to suffocate them.

She curled her fists to feign some stability. She wanted to make sure that, when she spoke, her voice would come out steady, but she realized there was no chance this was happening. So she just went for it. She opened her mouth and, although no sound came out at first, she had better luck at her second attempt.

"What... was that for?"

It was a lame question, but it was all her ridiculously slow brain could come up with.

Because she knew that Belegorn was not a fool. She knew that he, too, could sense the weight of everybody's gazes. He knew that such a gesture was not to be treated lightly, so he must have had something in his mind. He must have been thinking something when doing it.

Some place inside her hoped for an explanation. A simple one. One that would push this whole incident aside as insignificant. She did not want to dwell on the second possible meaning behind it, on all the implications...

She waited for his answer.

Belegorn swallowed. He seemed to have as much trouble talking as she did.

"I..." he started in a gruff voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I lost my calm. I'm sorry."

"You are sorry that you lost your calm or that you...?"

She couldn't continue. She couldn't say ' _you kissed me'_ out loud; the Forest was full of Elves and the invisible eye that was glued on her might have ears, too.

He did not grace her question with a direct answer. All he said was, "I acted on impulse. I shouldn't have done that."

She felt something in her crumble, taking with them the stability of her legs and leaving her weak in the knees.

So... He hadn't been thinking. He had not had something specific in his mind. In a way, this was even worse.

"What- What triggers an impulse like  _this_?" she asked, with no more hope for an answer that would slacken the vice around her head.

The look on Belegorn's face shifted. The hard mask cracked and resignation washed over his features. She couldn't place the feeling that stirred in his eyes until he named it out loud.

"Fear."

She stared at him, her mind buzzing in its pathetic numbness.

"What?" she breathed.

"I'm terrified, Maeloth. Can't you see?" His voice was a whisper now - an imploring one, begging to understand.

She couldn't.

"Terrified of what?"

Color was draining rapidly from his face. There was no mistaking of the terror in his features now.

"Losing you."

Silence spread again, too thick to breathe it in. She tried to connect what Belegorn was saying with what he had done. She tried to inhale the silence and turn it into words. Explanations. Logic. Or, at least, something that would be acceptable enough in the eyes of those who were watching them.

She could not connect the dots. She could not understand how fear was connected with a kiss, which is something one does for very specific reasons. Even when it's with someone as close to one, as Belegorn was to her.

Or especially then.

"Still, why...? Why...?" she stammered, unable to put into words the question that ate at her brain.

His face hardened.

"Why did I kiss you?" Maeloth winced when the word left his lips and hung in the air for everyone to see. "Isn't that what you wanted from  _him_? Your  _captain_?" he made sure to soak the title in an abundance of disgust. "Wasn't that what you were after?"

Oh. Right. There had been Morfindir before...  _this_. There had been a feast. A fight. Anger, and harsh words.

It had all flown from her head. It had not seemed important after  _that_  reality had crashed.

But still she could not connect the two.

"What does that have to do with-?"

"There's nothing  _he_  can give you that I can't!" he said sharply.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not going to lose you, Maeloth!" he was yelling now. "And I swear to all the stars of Elbereth and the deepest shadows of the Void that I am not going to lose you to  _him_!"

The pieces fell into place, and the vice tightened. She gulped. It didn't work. The air got stuck in her throat.

She understood the logic behind his action now, but that was not in any way comforting. He had been desperate. He was afraid of seeing her slip away, so he had given her what he thought she desired. Because yes, he was terrified, but he also was determined to do whatever it took to keep her. Determined and, in a way, ruthless - and that was a combination to be feared.

When she kept silent for too long, Belegorn spoke again. The harshness was crumbling again under the weight of his sheer terror.

"I can't lose you too, Maeloth! I won't let you- I can't- I-" Despair tinged his voice.

This was wrong. He was not supposed to do such a thing out of despair. He was not supposed to be afraid in the first place. She was his sister. She was supposed to protect him, and guard him from further horrors. That was what she had claimed to be doing, wasn't it?

And yet it wasn't. She had indeed been thinking only of herself and her own desires, and forgotten about the person she cared the most. She had caused that fear that overtook his logic and his actions. She had been the one responsible for it and, thinking back to they way she was behaving, she could not blame him. She had kept him south just so that she could go on with her own plans. She had flirted with Morfindir when she knew how her brother felt about it. And she did want revenge.

She hated seeing his face and know that she had been the cause for the pain in it.

Because, bottom line was, he was everything to her, too.

Of course, she cared about others, too. She cared about Eglerion, who was the closest thing she had to a best friend. She felt at home when she was with her unit, felt their heart-warming camaraderie. And she liked Morfindir. She wanted to be close to him, see him, talk to him, touch him. He had a unique effect on her, one that she relished.

But none of these could compare to what she felt about Belegorn. No one could ever hope to earn so much of her affection. No one could ever take the place he had in her heart.

She thought of Morfindir and her heart clenched painfully. Then a firm command ran though her mind.  _No._  She should not think about Morfindir anymore. Not in this way, ever again. He was the main reason that Belegorn acted so desperate, and that meant one thing. She would have to give him up. Whatever was building between her captain and her would have to be torn down. It filled her with regret, it made her want to scream in frustration, it made her want to punch the walls that closed around her, but it was the only way.

Because, when presented with the choice to keep one of them happy, she would choose Belegorn. She would always choose Belegorn, even if it tore at her heart.

She guessed that was what loving someone meant.

She had been selfish, but she could still make up for it and see the smile return to his face. She could, and she would.

When she talked, her voice was much more stable than she expected. "Don't talk about  _'losing me'_. I'm never going to leave you. You know that, don't you?"

He blinked at her. Her words, instead of being soothing, seemed to terrify him even more.

"You are everything to me, Maeloth," he said in a low, weak voice - almost as weak as he seemed right now.

She couldn't stand seeing so much pain on his face.

"I know. You... you are everything to me, too."

His face hardened again. "Don't lie."

Her blood froze. There it was again: his words slashed at her, cutting into raw skin. But she wasn't lying, and that was the painful part.

She couldn't stand the guilt that was choking her.

"Belegorn..." she started in a low voice. "I won't leave you. You are not going to lose me. You hear me? I promise you this. You will never lose me." She hoped the resolve in her voice would be enough to convince him.

A questioning frown appeared on his face.

"I am sorry that I made you feel this way," she went on; her voice came out thick. "I hadn't realized... I am sorry. You... You don't have to... act like this. I promise you won't lose me. You need not be so afraid."

"Then how come I am?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "I promise," she repeated firmly.

"Will you stop fighting, then?" he asked gruffly.

Her heart sank. "I can't do that. It's what I do now. I'm a soldier, it's... it's my duty."

"Then you can't promise anything."

"Look," she sighed. "I can give no promises about what happens on the battlefield, that is true. But I can promise about the rest. I..."

She paused. Her heart was beating fast. She knew what she wanted to say, but the words had stuck in her throat. They were words hard to utter, rough and scary.

"I love you, Belegorn," she said at long last.

His face turned blank and almost as white as a sheet. For one absurd second she though he would call her a liar again and, no matter how much she braced herself, she knew she wouldn't bear to hear it. Not this time, not about this.

He did not call her a liar, though. He did not say anything. He merely lowered his gaze to the ground, eyes glazed and unfocused. He gave one small nod and ran a hand through his long brown hair.

He sighed deeply. Color returned to his face and, with it, a neutral expression. The fear was gone. The anger was gone. That previous, abnormally dark, challenging look was gone.

He was just Belegorn, standing in the middle of their new home.

"Alright, then," he said. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed."

She started a bit at this and opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. What did she want to say, anyway? What did she expect?

He turned his back on her and left the room. She heard him walk down the corridor to her right. Heard his bed creak slightly. And then nothing.

She remained frozen in her place, her feet rooted to the spot. The ground that a while ago did not exist, was pulling at her body now. She was unable to lift one foot and move.

Move, and go where?

She couldn't lie down just now. Couldn't go to sleep like this was just one more ordinary night. She could not go to her bed when she kept feeling that kiss haunting her mouth, feeling the pressure of lips and the taste lingering in the back of her tongue-

She wanted to run. She wanted to breathe fresh air. She wanted to see the stars.

She was ready to heave her feet off the ground and take a pace towards the door, when a thought stopped her. Should she keep Belegorn company? Would it be one more thoughtless act from her part if she left now?

She bit her lip uncertainly. Perhaps she should stay...

Unless he did not mind. He was the first to withdraw, after all.

She cleared her throat tentatively.

"Belegorn... I'm going out for a bit. I want some fresh air."

No response.

She cleared her throat again and tried in a louder voice.

"Belegorn-"

"I heard you." His voice was strained and carried a hint of thickness.

She swallowed and waited, but he said nothing more. No objections came, not requests for her to stay. She guessed he craved for solitude, too.

Her hand found the doorknob and ste staggered outside.

She needed an isolated and quiet place - and as far from the dancing Elves as possible. As far away from the vice that threatened to grip her head again as possible.

She rubbed her lips forcefully, desperate to wipe out any trace of blood that clung to them before anyone noticed. She didn't stop until the skin around her mouth started feeling raw.

Next thing she knew, her footsteps were echoing along the empty underground streets. Her breathing was harsh in her ears, and there was something frantic in her pace. She had no particular destination in mind, until the remembrance of simpler times flew in her head. She remembered her and Eglerion, laughing and drinking in an empty tower.

A watchtower, graced with a long window that looked outside.

She was there in a matter of minutes. She tottered to the window, her eyes hungrily reaching for the sky. She collapsed against the windowsill and gasped for air. Even at this height, the air smelled of pine and night-flowers.

The faintest sound of music reached her and her stomach churned. The feast was still going on. Everything was still going on. Moving forward, relentlessly. The stars overhead carried on their orbits. She couldn't stand it. She needed everything to  _stop_  for just a moment. She needed time to breathe.  _Breathe_.

She needed to grasp the magnitude of what had happened. Needed to sort out the events of the night before they drove her mad.

She replayed everything in her mind, minute by minute, fragment by fragment. The moment she thought about the kiss, a whimper escaped her lips and her legs faltered. Her skin crawled even as cold sweat broke over it.

She could not focus on that. She could not keep thinking about the way it  _felt_.

What she had to do was look at things with a critical and detached eye. She had to think what to do, because everything was still moving forward. Eventually, she would have to walk out of there and face everyone. Face her brother, her best friend, her captain, resume her duties as sister, friend and soldier. Time ticked on. No respite.

And when time pushed her forward again, she'd have to walk without stumbling.

She stared at the wandering stars and borrowed their mercilessness. She saw herself from their point of view, tiny and unimportant and miles away. The events of the night turned into hard facts.

Belegorn had insulted Morfindir. Belegorn had called her selfish. Belegorn had been right. Belegorn had kissed her.

And she had promised to keep him happy.

The road down from there was clear. First off, she would have to apologize to Morfindir, then avoid all interactions with him beyond the necessary ones.

Regret nagged at her, so she clenched her teeth until her jaw hurt more than her heart. The image of Morfindir smiling as he danced with her made her body ache. She shook her head to the stars, to herself, to anyone watching.

"No," she said harshly.

She would not allow herself to think of him in that way anymore. It was over. Whatever... Whatever was going on between them was over. Her own pain did not matter. The regret, the crushed hopes, the exasperation... They would go away. Time would sweep her forward, and she'd leave these feelings right here, at this place and this moment. At some point, she'd be far enough to no longer be able to see them.

She'd promised. She'd chosen.

Belegorn was all that was left to her. Nothing could match her duty towards him.

Guilt hit her again and her legs gave in to the point that no amount of grappling the windowsill could keep her standing. She sank to the floor slowly until she curled against the wall. Her fingers slipped in her hair as she dropped her forehead to her knees.

She was despicable. She had used her brother to her advantage so many times. She had purposefully played with their boundaries to distract herself. Whenever he had kissed her skin, she had relished her body's reactions. She had used his comfort on restless nights. She'd been toying around with things that she shouldn't for a long time now. How could she really blame him for kissing her?

But a kiss remained a kiss, and a foolish move to make. There was no point denying it. She knew what Belegorn had done was not acceptable, no matter the reasons. He would be judged for it.

Oh, how easy it would be for everyone to judge.

How easy, indeed, when all one had ever known is safety and the warmth of peace. How easy to dictate what should or should not be, when one had never felt the very foundations of their life shake - when one has never seen their world torn apart and diminished into nothing but a sliver of what was before. How infuriatingly easy it was for them who had never felt the need to cling to the last piece that kept them afloat.

Her nails bit into her scalp. Her fury was back full-force, only this time is was not directed at Belegorn. If anything, Belegorn felt like the only one who was truly on her side. The only one who understood.

She'd have to protect him. That meant never,  _ever_  revealing what had happened between them tonight. No one would understand; not one would see what she saw. They'd only see the act, and talk, and talk more, and point their fingers. The'd call them names. Perhaps cast them out.

Even Morfindir, who always seemed to understand, was too bound to his moral ideas to see beyond them. Eglerion was not particularly judgmental, but something told her that in cases of moral ambiguity, he'd choose the popular side. There was no one she could trust with this.

And she wouldn't have to, because it was just one kiss. It would not be repeated, because she'd uproot the feelings that'd caused it out of Belegorn.

Slowly, she turned her face upwards, to the window that hung over her head. A window that faced south.

South. Where everything had started.

South. Where their world came to end and left behind  _this_ , and where the one that was responsible for it dwelled. The one that had given the order to turn their reality into ash and pain, the one true enemy. The reason she could not sleep at nights. The reason that there was nothing but a void where should have been memories of love and warmth. The reason her brother was diminished to a lost, scared creature.

South. Where everything had started and where everything would end.

She extended a shaking hand and dug her fingers at the alcove between two stone blocks. She heaved herself off the floor and took hold of the windowsill. She hauled herself back to a standing position, her hands gripping the edges of the window.

Her gaze wandered beyond the view before her, beyond the treetops and the edge of her horizon.

Yes, Belegorn had been right: revenge was personal and not at all noble.

But she would have it. It would be the one last selfish thing she would allow herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... That escalated. :P
> 
> Hello and thanks once more for reading!  
> This was a particularly tough chapter and one I've been looking forward to for a long, long time. Tackling _that_ scene (and everything before and after) was... intimidating, so I can't wait to hear what you think! As always, criticism and comments are most welcome. ^_^
> 
> Until next time, take care, everybody :*


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